NEWBURYPORT 


PUBLIC  LIBRARY. 


•  /■ 


MEMOIRS 


OF 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND. 


WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF, 


CONTAINING 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


INTERSPERSED  WITH 


ANECDOTES  AND  CHARACTERS 


OF  SEVERAL  OF 


*tun  MOST  DISTINGUrSHED  CHARACTERS  OF  HIS  T1ME<5 

WITH  WHOM  HE  HAS  MAD  INTERCOURSE 

AND  CONNECTION. 


NEW-YORKt 

PRINTED   BY  D.  AND   G.  BRUCE, 

FOR  BRISBAJV  <sr  BRJjY.YJ.Y^ 

186   PEARL-STREET, 


1806. 


V  A 


'^.x/yvJh^A&SHAA^ 


MEMOIRS 

OF 

RICHARD  CUMBERLAND. 


AT  the  close  of  the  year  1 804,  vdiilst  I  am  still  in  posse^.- 
sion  of  my  faculties,  though  full  of  years,  I  sit  down  to  give 
a  history  of  my  life  and  writings.  I  do  not  undertake  the 
task  lightly  and  without  deliberation,  for  I  have  weighed  the 
difficulties,  and  am  prepared  to  meet  them.  I  have  lived 
so  long  in  this  world,  mixed  so  generally  with  mankind,  and 
written  so  voluminously  and  so  variously,  that  I  trust  my 
motives  cannot  be  greatly  misunderstood,  if  with  strict 
attention  to  truth,  and  in  simplicity  of  style,  I  pursue  my 
narrative,  saying  nothing  more  of  the  immedi^ite  object  of 
these  memoirs,  than  in  honour  and  in  conscience  I  am  war- 
ranted to  say. 

I  shall  use  so  little  embellishment  in  this  narrative,  that 
if  the  reader  is  naturally  candid  he  will  not  be  disgtisted  ;  if 
he  is  easily  amused  he  will  not  be  disappointed. 

As  I  have  been,  through  life,  a  negligent  recorder  of  dates 
and  events  relating  to  myself,  it  is  very  possible  I  may  fall 
into  errors  of  memory  as  to  the  order  and  arrangement  of 
certdn  factfe  and  occurrences,  but  whilst  I  adhere  to  veracity 
in  the  relation  of  them,  the  trespass,  I  presume,  will  be 
readily  overlooked, 

Of  many  persons,  with  whom  I  have  had  intercourse  and 
connection,  I  shall  speak  freely  and  impartially.  I  know 
myself  incapable  of  wantonly  aspersing  the  characters  of  the 
living  or  the  dead  ;  but,  though  I  will  not  indulge  myself  in 
conjectures,  I  will  not  turn  aside  from  facts,  and  neither  from 
affectation  of  candour,  nor  dread  of  recrimination,  wave  the 


4  MEMOIRS  OF 

privilege  v/hich  I  claim  for  myself  in  every  page  of  this  his- 
tory, of  speaking  tiie  truth  from  my  heart :  I  may  not  always 
say  ail  that  I  could,  but  I  will  never  knowingly  say  of  any 
man  what  I  should  not. 

As  I  am  descended  from  ancestors  illustrious  for  their 
piety,  benevolence  and  erudition,  I  will  not  say  I  am  not  vain 
of  that  distinction  ;  but  I  will  confess  it  would  be  a  vanity, 
serving  only  to  expose  my  degeneracy,  were  it  accompanied 
with  the  inspiration  of  no  vvorthier  passion. 

Doctor  Richard  Cumberland,  who  was  consecrated  bishop 
of  Peterborough  in  the  year  1691,  was  my  great  grand- 
father. He  v/as  author  of  that  excellent  v/ork  entitled  Be 
JLegibiis  Xatiirx^  in  which  he  effectually  refutes  the  impious 
tenets  of  Hobbes,  and  whilst  he  was  unambitiously  fulfilling 
the  simple  functions  of  a  parish  priest  in  the  town  of  Stam- 
ford, the  revolution  having  taken  place,  search  v/as  made 
after  the  ablest  Protestant  divines  to  fill  up  vacancies  in  the 
hierarchy,  and  rally  round  their  late  endangered  church. — 
Without  interest,  and  without  a  wish  to  emerge  from  his 
obscurity  and  retirement,  this  excellent  man,  the  vindicator 
of  the  insulted  laws  of  nature,  received  the  first  intelligence 
of  his  promotion  from  a  paragraph  in  the  public  papers,  and 
being  then  sixty  years  old,  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to 
accept  the  offer,  when  it  came  to  him  from  authority.  The 
persuasion  of  his  fnends,  particularly  sir  Orlando  Bridge- 
man,  at  length  overcame  his  repugnance,  and  to  that  see, 
though  very  rrioderately  endovved,  he  for  ever  after  devoted 
himself,  and  resisted  every  offer  of  translation,  though  re- 
peatedly made  and  earnestly  reconkmended.  To  such  of 
his  friends  as  pressed  an  exchange  upon  him  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  reply,  that  Peterborough  was  his  first  espoused, 
and  should  be  his  only  one  ;  and,  in  fact,  according  to  his 
principles,  no  church  revenue  could  enrich  lam  ;  for  I  have 
heard  my  flither  say,  that  at  the  end  of  every  year,  whatever 
overplus  he  found  upon  a  minute  inspection  of  his  accounts, 
was  by  him  distributed  to  the  poor,  reserving  only  one  small 
deposit  of  t%\'enty-five  pounds  in  cash,  found  at  his  death  in 
his  bureau,  with  directions  to  employ  it  for  the  discharge  of 
his  funeral  expenses  ;  a  sum,  in  his  modest  calculation,  fully 
sufficient  to  commit  liis  body  to  the  earth. 

Such  was  the  humility  of  tiiis  truly  Christian  prelate,  and 
such  his  disinterested  sentiments  as  to  the  appropriation  of 
his  episcopal  reveaae.     The  wealthiest  see  could  not  have 


I 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  6 

tempted  liim  to  accumulate,  the  poorest  sufficed  for  his  ex- 
penses, and  of  those  he  had  to  spare  for  the  poor.  Yet  he 
was  hospitable  in  his  plain  and  primitive  style  of  living,  and 
had  a  table  ever  open  to  his  clergy  and  his  friends  :  he  had  a 
sweetness  and  placidity  of  temper,  that  nothing  ever  rulticd 
or  disturbed.  I  know  it  cannot  be  the  lot  of  human  creature 
to  attain  perfection,  yet  so  wonderfully  near  did  this  good 
man  approach  to  consummate  rectitude,  that  unless  benevo- 
lence may  be  carried  to  excess,  no  other  faiiing  was  ever 
known  to  have  been  discovered  in  his  character.  His  chap- 
Iain,  Archdeacon  Payne,  who  married  one  of  his  daughters, 
and  Vvhom  I  am  old  enough  to  remember,  makes  this  obser- 
vation in  the  ,short  sketch  of  the  bishop's  lite,  which  he  has 
prefixed  to  his  edition  of  The  Saichoniatho,  This  and  his 
other  works  are  in  the  hands  of  the  learned,  and  cannot  need 
any  effort  on  my  part  to  elucidate  what  they  so  clearly  dis- 
play, the  vast  erudition  and  patient  investigation  of  their 
author. 

The  death  of  this  venerable  prelate  v/as,  like  his  life, 
serene  and  undisturbed  :  at  the  extended  age  of  eigiity-six 
years  and  some  months,  as  he  was  sitting  in  his  library,  he 
expired  without  a  struggle,  for  he  was  found  in  the  attitude 
of  one  asleep,  with  his  cap  fallen  over  his  eyes,  and  a  book  in 
his  hand,  in  which  he  had  been  reading.  Thus,  without  the 
ordinary  visitations  of  pain  or  sickness,  it  pleased  God  to 
terminate  the  existence  of  this  exemplary  man. 

He  possessed  his  faculties  to  the  last,  verifying  the  only 
claim  he  was  ever  heard  to  makeas  to  mental-endowments  ; 
for  v/hiist  he  acknowledged  himself  to  be  gifted  by  nature 
with  good  wearing  parts^  he  made  no  pretensions  to  quick 
and  brilliant  talents,  and  in  that  respect  he  seems  to  have 
estimated  himself  very  truly,  as  we  rarely  find  such  meek 
and  modest  qualities  as  he  possessed,  in  men  of  warmer 
imaginations,  and  a  brighter  glow  of  genius  with  less  solidity 
of  understanding,  and,  of  course,  more  liable  to  the  influences 
of  their  passions. 

Bishop  Cumberland  v/as  tlie  son  of  a  respectable  citizen 
of  London,  and  educated  at  Si.  Paul's  school,  from  whence 
he  vras  ailmitted  of  Magdalen  College  in  Cambridge,  where 
he  pursued  his  studies,  and  was  ejected  fellow  of  that  society, 
to.  whiclv  I  had  the  honour  to  present  a  cof).y  of  that  portrait 
-^cm  v/hich  the  print  hereunto  annexed  v/as  taken. 

•      ..  .       ..      A  2  .:■'■. 


MEMOIRS  OF 

In  the  oriental  langna?;es,  in  mathematics^  and  even  in 
anatomy,  he  v/as  deeply  learned ;  in  short,  his  mind  was 
fitted  for  eialjorate  and  pro  found  researches,  as  his  works 
more  fully  testify .  It  is  to  be  lamented  that  his  famous  \vork, 
£)c  Legibus  J^litiira  vras  allowed  to  come  before  the  public 
with  so  many  and  such  glaring  errors  of  the  press,  wiiich 
his  absence  and  considerable  distance  from  London  disabled 
him  from  correcting-.  I  had  a  copy  interleaved  and  correct^ 
edand  amended  throughout  by  Doctor  Bentley,  who,  being 
en  a  visit  to  my  father  at  his  parsonage -house  in  Northamp- 
tonshire, undertook  that  kmd  office,  and  completed  it  most 
eifectually. — >This  book  I  gave,  when  last  at  Cambridge,  to 
the  library  of  Trinity  College  ;  and  if, 'by  those  means,  it 
shall  find  a  passport  to  the  University  press,  I  shall  have 
^au t^e  to  congratulate  myself  for  having  so  happily  bestow- 
(ed  it. 

Of  Doctor  Richard  Bentley,  my  maternal  grandfather,  I 
shall  next  take  leave  to  speak.  Of  him  I  have  perfect  re- 
collection. His  person,  his  dignity,  his  language  and  his 
■  love  fixed  my  early  attention,  and  stamped  both  his  image 
and  his  v>?ords  upon  my  memory.  His  literary  works  are 
knoYfn  to  all,  his  private  character  is  still  misunderstood 
hy  many  ;  to  that  I  shall  confine  myself,  and,  putting  aside 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  descendant,  I  can  assert,  with  the  vera- 
city of  a  biographer,  that  he  was  neither  cynical,  as  some 
iiave  represented  him,  nor  overbearing  and  fastidious  in  the 
degree,  as  he  has  been  described  by  many.  Swift,  when  he 
foisted  him  into  his  vulgar  Battle  cf  the  Books^  neither  lowers 
Bentley 's  fame  nor  elevates  his  own  ;  and  the  petulant  poet> 
v/ho  thought  he  had  hit  his  manner,  when  he  made  him 
haughtily  call  to  Walker  for  his  hat^  gave  a  copy  as  little  like 
the  character  of  Bentley,  as  his  translation  is  like  the  original 
of  Homer.  That  Doctor  Walker,  vice-master  of  Trinity- 
College,  was  the  friend  of  my  grandfather,  and  a  frequent 
guest  at  his  table,  is  true  ;  but  it  was  not  in  Doctar  Bent- 
ley's  nature  to  treat  him  with  contempt,  nor  did  his  harm- 
less character  inspire  it.  As  for  the  hat^  I  must  acknow- 
letb^e  it  was  ef  formidable  dimensions,  yet  I  was  accustomed 
to  treat  it  with  great  familiarity,  and  if  it  had  ever  been  fur- 
ther from  the  hand  of  its  owner  than  the  peg  upon  the  back 
*5f  hi-?  gre-at  arm-chair,  I  might  have  been  dispatched  to  fetch 
it,  for  he  was  disable<l  by  the  palsy  in  his  latter  days ;  but  the 
hat  never  strayed  from  it&  place,  and  Pope  found  an  oi^ce  fo? 

m 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  r 

Walker,  tliat  I  can  well  believe  he  was  never  commissioned 
to  in  his  life. 

I  had  a  sister  somewhat  older  than  myself.  Had  there 
been  any  of  that  sternness  in  my  grandfather,  which  is  so 
falsely  imputed  to  him,  it  may  well  be  supposed  we  should 
have  been  awed  into  silence  in  his  presence,  to  which  we 
were  admitted  every  day.  Nothing  can  be  further  from  the 
truth  ;  he  was  the  unwearied  patron  and  promoter  of  all  our 
childish  sports  and  sallies  ;  at  all  times  ready  to  detach  him-- 
self  from  any  topic  of  conversation  to  take  an  interest  and 
bear  his  part  in  our  amusements.  The  eager  curiosity  natu- 
ral to  our  age,  and  the  questions  it  gave  birth  to,  so  teazing  to 
many  parents,  he,  on  the  contrary,  attended  to  and  encour- 
aged, as  the  claims  of  infant  reason  never  to  be  evaded  or 
abused  ;  strongly  recommending,  that  to  all  such  enquiries 
answer  siiould  be  given  according  to  tlie  strictest  truth,  and 
information  dealt  to  us  in  the  clearest  terms,  as  a  sacred 
duty  never  to  be  departed  from.  I  have  broken  in  upon  him 
many  a  time  in  his  hours  of  study,  when  he  v»  ould  put  his 
book  aside,  ring  his  hand-beil  for  his  servant,  and  be  led  to 
his  shelves  to  take  down  a  picture-book  for  my  amusement. 
I  do  not  say  that  his  good  nature  always  gained  its  object,  as 
the  pictures  which  his  books  generally  supplied  me  with 
were  anatomical  drawings  of  dissected  bodies,  very  little 
calculated  to  communicate  delight ;  but  he  had  notlang  bet- 
ter to  produce  ;  and  surely  such  an  effort  on  his  part,  how- 
ever unsuccessful,  was  no  feature  of  a  cynic  :  a  cynic  should 
be  made  of  sterner  stuff.  I  have  had  fiom  him,  at  times, 
whilst  standing  at  his  elbow,  a  complete  and  entertaming 
narrative  of  his  school-boy  days,  with  the  characters  of  his 
different  masters  very  humoursly  displayed,  and  the  punish- 
ments described,  which  they  at  times  would  wrongfully  in- 
flict upon  him  for  seeming  to  be  idle  and  regardless  of  his 
task,  "  When  the  dunces,"  he  would  say,  "  could  not  dis- 
"  cover  that  1  was  pondering  it  in  my  mind,  and  fixing  it 
"  more  firmly  in  my  memory,  than  if  I  had  been  bawling 
**  it  out  amongst  the  rest  of  my  school-fellows.'- 

Once,  and  only  once,  I  recollect  his  giving  me  a  gentle 
rebuke  for  making  a  most  outrageous  noise  in  the  room  over 
his  library  and  disturbing  him  in  his  studies ;  I  had  no  ap- 
prehension of  anger  from  him>  and  confidently  answered 
that  I  could  not  help  it,  as  I  had  been  at  battledore  and  shut- 
tleODck  with  Master  Goacii>  the  Biiskc^  of  Ely's  son.  **  Aoii 


g  MEMOIRS  OF 

"  I  have  been  at  this  sport  with  his  father,"  he  replied ; 
"  But  thine  has  been  the  more  amusing  game  ;  so  there \s 
"  no  harm  clone." 

These  are  puerile  anecdotes,  but  my  history  itself  is  only 
in  its  nonage  ;  and  even  these  will  serve  in  some  degree  to 
establish  what  I  piffirmed,  and  present  his  character  in  those 
mild  and  unimposing  lights,  which  may  prevail  with  those 
who  know  him  only  as  a  critic  and  controversialist— 

As  slucihiiig  Bcntly  with  his  desfierate  hookj 
to  reform  and  soften  their  opinions  of  him. 

He  recommended  it  as  a  very  essential  duty  in  parents 
to  be  particularly  attentive  to  the  first  dawnings  of  reason 
in  their  children ;  and  his  OAvn  practice  was  the  best  illus- 
tration of  his  doctrine  ;  for  he  was  the  most  patient  hearer 
and  most  favourable  interpreter  of  first  attempts  at  argument 
and  meaning  that  1  ever  knew.  When  I  was  rallied  by  my 
mother,  for  roundly  asserting  that  I  never  shfit^  I  remember 
full  well  his  calling  on  me  to  account  for  it ;  and  when  I 
explained  it  by  saying  I  never  knew  myself  to  be  asleep, 
and  therefore  supposed  I  never  slept  at  all,  he  gave  me  cre- 
dit for  my  defence,  and  said  to  my  mother,  "  Leave  your 
"  boy  in  possession  of  his  opinion  ;  he  has  as  clear  a  concep- 
'*  tion  of  sleep,  and  at  least  as  comfortable  an  one,  as  the  phi- 
"  losophers  who  puzzle  their  brains  about  it,  and  do  not 
"  rest  so  well." 

Though  Bishop  Lowth,  in  the  flippancy  of  controversy 
called  the  author  of  The  Philoleutherun  LipsienpAs  and  detec^ 
tor  of  Phalaris  aut  Cajirimulgus  aut  Jhssor^  his  genius  has 
produced  those  living  witnessess,  that  must  for  ever  put 
that  charge  to  shame  and  silence.  Against  such  idle  ill- 
considered  words,  now  dead  as  the  language  they  were  con- 
veyed in,  the  appeal  is  near  at  hand  ;  it  lies  no  further  off 
than  to  his  works,  and  they  are  upon  every  reading-man's 
shelves ;  but  those,  who  would  have  looked  into  his  heart, 
should  have  stepped  into  his  house,  and  seen  him  in  his 
private  and  domestic  hours  ;  therefot^e  it  is  that  I  adduce 
these  little  anecdotes  and  trifling  incidents,  which  describe 
the  man,  but  leave  the  author  ta^ defend  himself. 

His  ordinary  style  of  conversation  was  naturally  lofty,  and 
his  frequent  use  of  thou  and  thee  with  his  familiars  ^carried 
with  it  a  kind  of  dictatorial  tone^  that  savoured  more  of  the 
closet  than  the  court;  this  is  readily  admitted,  and  this  en  first 
approaches  might  mislead  a  stranger ;  but  the  native  can- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  9. 

dour  and  inherent  tenderness  of  his  heart  could  not  long  be 
veiled  from  observation  for  his  feeUngs  and  affections  were 
fit  once  too  impulsive  to  be  long  repressed,  and  he  too  care- 
less of  concealment  to  attempt  at  qualifying  them.  Such  was 
his  sensibility  towards  human  sufferings,  that  it  became  a 
-duty  with  his  family  to  divert  the  conversation  from  all  topics 
of  that  sort ;  and  if  he  touched  upon  them  himself  he  was 
betrayed  into  agitations,  which  if  the  reader  ascribes  to  para- 
lytic weakness,  he  will  very  greatly  mistake  a  man,  who  to 
.the  last  hour  of  his  life  possessed  his  faculties  firm  and  in 
their  fullest  vigour  ;  I  therefore  bar  all  such  misinterpreta- 
jtions  as  may  attempt  to  set  the  mark  of  infirmity  upon  those 
emotions,  which  had  no  other  source  and  origin  but  in  the 
natural  and  pure  benevolence  of  his  heart. 

He  was  communicative  to  all  without  distinction,  that 
sought  information,  or  resorted  to  Lim  for  assistance  ;  fond 
of  his  college  almost  to  enthusiasm,  and  ever  zealous  for  the 
honour  of  the  purple  gown  of  Trinity.  When  he  held  exa- 
minations for  fellowships,  and  the  modest  candidate  exhi- 
bited marks  of  agitation  and  alarm,  he  never  failed  to  inter- 
pret candidly  of  such  symptoms  ;  and  on  those  occssions  he 
w^as  never  known  to  press  the  hesitating  and  embarrassed 
examinant,  but  oftentimes  on  the  contrary  would  take  all 
the  pains  of  expounding  on  himself,  and  credit  the  exone- 
rated candidate  for  answers  and  interpretations  of  his  own 
suggesting.  If  this  was  not  rigid  justice,  it  was,  at  least  in 
my  conception  of  it,  something  better  and  more  amiable ; 
and  how  liable  he  was  to  deviate  from  the  strict  line  of  jus- 
tice, by  liis  partiality  to  the  side  of  mercy,  appears  from  the 
anecdote  of  the  thief,  who  robbed  him  of  his  plate,  and  was 
seized  and  brought  before  him  with  the  very  articles  upon 
him  :  the  natural  process  in  this  man's  case  pointed  out  the 
road  to  prison ;  my  grandfather's  process  was  more  sum- 
mary, but  not  quite  so  legal.  While  commissary  Greaves, 
who  was  then  present,  and  of  counsel  for  the  college  Ex 
officio^  was  expatiating  on  the  crime,  and  prescribing  the 
measures  obviously  to  be  taken  with  the  offender,  Doctor 
Bentley  interposed,  saying,  "  Why  tell  the  man  he  is  a 
*'  thief?  he  knows  that  well  enough  without  thy  informa- 
"  tion,  G reaves. -—Harkye,  fellow,  thou  see'st  the  trade 
"  which  thou  hast  taken  up  is  an  unprofitable  trade,  there- 
"  fore  get  thee  gone,  lay  aside  an  occupation  by  which  thou 
^^  can'st  Q:oin  notliing  but  a  halter,  and  follow  that  by  which 


10  MEMOIRS  OF 

*'  thou  inay'st  earn  an  honest  livelihood,"  Having  said  this, 
he  ordered  him  to  be  set  at  liberty  against  the  remonstrances 
of  the  bye-standers,  and  insisting  upon  it  that  the  fellow  was 
duly  penitent  for  his  offence,  bade  him  go  his  way  and  never 
steal  again. 

I  leave  it  with  those,  who  consider  mercy  as  one  of  man's 
best  attributes,  to  suggest  a  plea  for  the  informality  of  this 
proceeding,  and  to  such  I  will  communicate  one  other  anec- 
dote, which  I  do  not  deliver  upon  my  own  knowledge,  though 
from  unexceptionable  authority,  and  this  is,  that  when  Col- 
lins had  fallen  into  decay  of  circumstances,  Doctor  Bentley, 
suspecting  he  had  written  him  out  of  credit  by  his  Philoleu- 
therus  Lifisieiisis^  secretly  contrived  to  administer  to  the  ne- 
cessities of  his  baffled  opponent,  in  a  manner,  that  did  no 
less  credit  to  his  delicacy  than  to  his  liberality. 

A  morose  and  over-bearing  man  will  find  himself  a  soli- 
tary being  in  creation  ;  Doctor  Bentley  on  the  contrary  had 
many  intimates  ;  judicious  in  forming  his  friendships,  he 
was  faithful  in  adhering  to  them.  With  Sir  Isaac  Newton, 
Doctor  Mead,  Doctor  Waliis  of  Stamford,  Baron  Spanheim, 
the  lamented  Roger  Cotes,  and  several  other  distinguished 
and  illustrious  contemporaries,  he  lived  on  terms  of  uninter- 
rupted harmony,  and  I  have  good  authority  for  saying,  that 
it  is  to  his  interest  and  importunity  with  Sir  Isaac  Newton, 
that  the  inestimable  publication  of  the  Princijiia  was  ever 
resolved  upon  by  that  truly  great  and  luminous  philosopher. 
Newton's  portrait  by  Sir  James  Thornhiil,  and  those  of  Ba- 
ron Spanheim  and  my  grandfather  by  the  same  hand,  now 
hanging  in  the  Master's  lodge  of  Trinity,  were  the  bequest 
of  Doctor  Bentley.  I  was  possessed  of  letters  in  Sir  Isaac's 
own  hand  to  my  grandfather,  which  together  with  the  cor- 
rected volume  of  bishop  Cumberland's  Laws  of  A'aturc^  I 
lately  gave  to  the  library  of  that  flourishing  and  illustrious 
college. 

The  irreparable  loss  of  Roger  Cotes  in  early  life  of  whom 
Newton  had  pronounced — jYoiv  the  nvorld  will  know  soine^ 
things  Doctor  Bentley  never  mentioned  but  with  the  deepest 
regret :  he  had  formed  the  highest  expectations  of  new  lights 
and  discoveries  in  philosophy  from  the  penetrating  force  of 
his  extraordinary  genius,  and  on  the  tablet  devoted  to  his 
memory,  hi  the  chapel  of  Trinity  College,  Doctor  Bentley 
has  recorded  his  sorrows  and  those  of  the  whole  learned 
world  in  the  following  beautiful  and  pathetic  epitaph  ; 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND,  U 

H.  S.  E. 

"  Rogerus  Robert!  filius  Cotes, 
"  Hugus  Collegii  S.  Trinitatis  Socius, 
"  Et  Astronotniac  et  experimentalis 
"  Philosophise  Professor  Plumianus  ; 
<'  Qui  immatura  Morte  prsereptus, 
"  Pauca  quidem  ingenii  Sui 

"  Pignora  reliquit, 
"  Sed  egregia,  sed  admiranda, 
"  Ex  intimis  Matheseos  penetralibus, 
"  Felici  Solertia  turn  primum  eruta  ; 
"  Post  magnum  ilium  Newtonum 
"  Societatis  hujus  spes  altera 
"  Et  decus  gemellum  ; 
'*  Cui  ad  summam  Doctrinx  laudem, 
"  Omnes  morum  viitutumque  dotes 
"  In  cumulum  accesserunt ; 
^'  Eo  magis  spectables  amabilesque, 
"  Quod  in  formoso  corpora 
"  Gratiores  venirent.  < 

"  Natus  Burbagii 
^*  In  agro  Leicestriensi. 

"  Jul.  X.    MDCLXXXII. 

''  Obiit.  Jun.  v.  mdccxvi.'' 

His  domestic  habits,  when  I  knew  him,  were  still  those 
of  unabated  study  :  he  slept  in  the  room  adjoining  to  his 
library,  and  was  never  with  his  family  till  the  hour  of  din- 
ner ;  at  these  times  he  seemed  to  have  detached  himself 
most  completely  from  his  studies ;  never  appearing  thought- 
ful and  abstracted,  but  social,  gay,  and  possessing  perfect 
serenity  of  mind  and  equability  of  temper.  He  never  dic- 
tated topics  of  conversation  to  the  company  he  was  with,  but 
took  them  up  as  they  came  in  his  way,  and  was  a  patient 
listener  to  other  people's  discourse,  however  trivial  or  unin- 
teresting it  might  be.  When  The  Sjiectatoi^s  were  in  pub- 
lication I  heard  my  mother  say  he  took  great  delight  in 
hearing  them  read  to  him,  and  was  so  particularly  amused 
by  the  character  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly,  that  he  took  his 
literary  decease  most  seriously  to  heart.  She  also  told  mc, 
that,  when  in  conversation  with  him  on  the  subject  of  his 
works,  she  found  occasion  to  lament  that  he  had  bestowed 
so  great  a  portion  of  his  time  and  talents  upon  criticism 


12  MEMOIRS  OF 

instead  of  employing  them  upon  original  composition,  he 
acknowledged  the  justice  of  her  regret  with  extreme  sensi- 
bility, and  remained  for  a  considerable  time  thoughtful  and 
seemingly  embarrassed  by  the  nature  of  her  remark  ;  at  last 
recollecting  himself  he  said — ^"  Child,  I  am  sensible  I  have 
"  not  always  turned  my  talents  to  the  proper  use  for  which 
^*  I  should  presume  they  were  given  to  me:  yet  I  have 
"  done  something  for  the  honour  of  my  God  and  the  edifica- 
"  tion  of  my  fellow-creatures ;  but  the  wit  and  genius  of 
"  those  old  heathens  beguiled  me,  and  as  I  despaired  of  rais- 
"  ingmyself  up  to  their  standard  upon  fair  ground,  I  thought 
"  the  only  chance  I  had  of  looking  over  their  heads  was  to 
"  get  upon  their  shoulders." 

Of  his  pecuniary  affairs  he  took  no  account ;  he  had  no 
use  for  money,  and  dismissed  it  entirely  from  his  thoughts : 
his  establishment  in  the  mean  time  was  respectable,  and  his 
table  affluently  and  hospitably  served.  All  these  matters 
were  conducted  and  arranged  in  the  best  manner  possible 
hy  one  of  the  best  women  livings ;  for  such,  by  the  testimony 
ofallw^ho  knew  her,  was  Mrs.  Bentley,  daughter  of  Sir 
John  Bernard,  of  Brampton,  in  Huntingdonshire,  a  family 
of  great  opulence  and  respectability,  allied  to  the  Crom wells  . 
and  Saint  Johns,  and  by  intermarriages  connected  with  other 
great  and  noble  houses.  I  have  perfect  recollection  of  the 
person  of  my  grandmother,  and  a  full  impression  of  her 
manners  and  habits,  which,  though  in  some  degree  tinctured 
with  hereditary  reserve  and  the  primitive  cast  of  character, 
v^^ere  entirely  free  from  the  hypocritical  cant  and  affected 
sanctity  of  the  Oliverians.  Her  whole  life  was  modelled  on 
the  purest  principles  of  piety,  benevolence  and  Christian 
charity  ;  and  in  her  dying  moments,  my  mother  being  pre- 
sent and  voucher  of  the  fact,  she  breathed  out  her  soul  in  a 
kind  of  beatific  vision,  exclaiming  in  rapture  as  she  expired 
~//f  is  all  bright^  it  is  all  glorious, 

I  was  frequently  called  upon  by  her  to  repeat  certain 
scriptural  texts  and  passages,  which  she  had  taught  me,  and 
for  which  I  seldom  failed  to  be  rewarded,  but  by  which  I 
was  also  frequently  most  completely  puzzled  and  bewilder- 
ed ;  so  that  I  much  doubt  if  the  good  effects  of  this  practice 
upon  immature  and  infantine  understandings,  will  be  found 
to  keep  pace  with  the  good  intentions  of  those  who  adopt  it. 
One  of  these  holy  apothegms,  viz  :— T'Ae  eyes  of  the  Lord 
are  in  every  filace^  beholding  the  evil  and  the good^  I  remem- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  lo 

ber  to  have  cost  me  many  a  struggle  to  interpret,  and  the 
result  of  my  construction  was  directly  opposite  to  the  spirit 
and  meaning  of  the  text.  I  was  also  occasionally  summoned 
to  attend  upon  the  readings  of  long  sermons  and  homilies  of 
Baxter,  as  I  believe,  and  others  of  his  period  ;  neither  by 
these  was  I  edified,  but,  on  the  contrary,  so  effectually  wea- 
ried, that  by  noises  andinterruptions  I  seldom  failed  to  ren- 
der myself  obnoxious,  and  obtain  my  dismission  before  the 
reading  was  over. 

The  death  of  this  exemplarylady  preceded  that  of  mygrand- 
father  by  a  few  years  only,  and  by  her  he  had  one  son,Richard, 
and  two  daughters,  Elizabeth  and  Joanna.  Richard  was  a  man 
of  various  and  considerable  accomplishments  ;  he  had  a  fine 
genius,  great  wit  and  a  brilliant  imagination  ;  he  had  also  the 
manners  and  address  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  but  there  was 
a  certain  eccentricity  and  want  of  worldly  prudence  in  my 
uncle's  character,  that  involved  him  in  distresses,  and  re- 
duced him  to  situations  uncongenial  with  his  feelings,  and 
unpropitious  to  the  cultivation  and  encouragement  of  his 
talents.  His  connexion  with  Mr.  Horace  Walpole,  the  late 
Lord  Orford,  had  too  much  of  the  bitter  of  dependiaice  in  it 
to  be  gratifying  to  the  taste  of  a  man  of  his  spirit  and  sensi- 
bility ;  the  one  could  not  be  abject,  and  the  other,  I  suspect, 
was  not  by  nature  very  liberal  and  large-minded.  They 
carried  on,  for  a  long  time,  a  sickly  kind  of  friendship,  which 
had  its  hot  fits  and  its  cold ;  was  suspended  and  renewed, 
but  I  believe  never  totally  broken  and  avowedly  laid  aside. 
Walpole  had  by  nature  a  propensity,  and  by  constitution  a 
plea,  for  being  captious  and  querulential,  for  he  was  a  mar- 
tyr  to  the  gout.  He  wrote  prose  and  published  it ;  he  com- 
posed verses  and  circulated  them,  cind  was  an  author,  who 
seemed  to  play  2X hide-and-seek  v/ith  the  public.  There  was 
a  mysterious  air  of  consequence  in  his  private  establishment 
of  a  domestic  printing-press,  that  seemed  to  augur  great 
things,  but  performed  little.  Walpole  was  already  an  au- 
thor with  no  great  claims  to  excellence,  Bentley  had  thosQ 
powers  in  embryo,  that  would  have  enabled  him  to  excel, 
but  submitted  to  be  the  projector  of  Gothic  embellishments 
for  Strawberry  Hiilj  and  humble  designer  of  drawings  to  or- 
nament a  thin  folio  of  a  meagre  collection  of  odes  by  Gray, 
the  most  costive  of  poets,  edited  at  the  Walpolian  press.  In 
one  of  th(?se  designs  Bentley  has  personified  himself  as  a 
monkey,  sitting  under  a  withered  tree  w^ith  his  pallet  in  his 


14  MEMOIRS  OF 

hand  v/hiie  Gray  reposes  under  the  shade  of  a  flourishing* 
laurel  in  all  the  dignity  of  learned  ease.  Such  a  design 
with  figures  so  contrasted  might  flatter  Gray  and  gratify 
the  trivial  taste  of  Walpoie  ;  but  in  my  poor  opinion  it  is  a 
satire  in*  copper-plate,  and  my  uncle  has  most  completely 
libelled  both  his  poet  and  his  patron  without  intending  so 
to  do. 

Let  this  suffice  at  present  for  the  son  of  Doctor  Bentley  ; 
m  the  course  of  these  memoirs  I  shall  take  occasion  to  re- 
call the  attention  of  my  readers  to  what  I  have  further  to 
relate  of  him. 

Elizabeth  Bentley,  eldest  daughter  of  her  father,  first  mar- 
ried Humphry  Ridge,  Esquire,  and  after  his  decease  the 
Reverend  Doctor  Favell,  fellow  of  Trinity  College,  and  af- 
ter his  marriage  with  my  aunt.  Rector  of  \Vitton  near  Hun- 
tingdon, in  the  gift  of  Sir  John  Bernard  of  Brampton.  She 
was  an  honoureible  and  excellent  lady  ;  I  had  cause  to  love 
her,  and  lament  her  death.  She  inherited  the  virtues  and 
benignity  of  her  mother,  with  habits  more  adapted  to  the 
fashions  of  the  world. 

Joanna,  the  younger  of  Doctor  Bentley's  daughters,  and 
the  Phcebe  of  Byron's  pastoral,  was  my  mother.  I  will  not 
violate  the  allegiance  I  have  vowed  to  truth  in  giving  any 
other  character  of  her,  than  what  in  conscience  I  regard  as 
just  and  faithful.  She  had  a  vivacity  of  fancy  and  a  strength 
of  intellect,  in  which  few  were  her  superiors  :  she  read  much,, 
remembered  well  and  discerned  acutely  :  I  never  knew  the 
person,  who  could  better  embellish  any  subject  she  was 
upon,  or  render  common  incidents  more  entertcdningby  the 
happy  art  of  relating  them  ;  her  invention  v/a?s  »so  fertile,  her 
ideas  so  original  and  the  points  of  humour  so  ingeniously  and 
vmexpectedly  taken  up  in  the  progress  of  her  narrative,  that 
she  never  failed  to  accomplish  all  the  purposes,  which  the 
gaiety  of  her  imagination  could  lay  itself  out  for  :  she  had  a 
quick  intuition  into  characters,  and  a  faculty  of  marking  out 
the  ridiculous,  when  it  came  within  her  view,  with  a  force  I 
must  confess  she  made  rather  too  frequent  use  of.  Her  so- 
cial powers  were  brilliant,  but  not  uniform,  for  on  some  oc- 
casions she  would  persist  in  a  determined  taciturnity  to  the 
regret  of  the  company  present,  and  at  other  times  would  lead 
off  in  her  best  manner,  when  perhaps  none  were  present, 
w^ho  could  taste  the  spirit  and  amenity  of  her  humour.  There 
hardly  passed  a  day,  ia  which  she  failed  to  devote  a  portion 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  lo 

of  her  time  to  the  reading  of  the  Bible  ;  and  her  commenti^ 
imd  expositions  might  have  merited  the  attention  of  the  wise 
and  learned.  Though  strictly  pious,  there  was  no  gloom  in 
her  religion,  but  on  the  contrary  such  was  the  happy  faculty 
which  she  possessed,  of  making  every  doctrine  pleasant,  eve- 
ry duty  sweet,  that  whcit  some  instructors  would  have  repre- 
sented as  a  burden  and  a  yoke,  she  contrived  to  i  ccommend 
as  a  recreation  and  delight.  All  that  son  can  owe  to  parent^ 
or  disciple  to  his  teacher,  I  owe  to  her. 

My  paternal  grandfdther  Richard,  only  son  of  Bishop  Cum- 
berland, was  rector  of  Peakirk  in  the  diocese  of  Feterbo- 
borough  and  Archdeacon  of  Northampton.  He  had  two 
sons  and  one  daughter,  v/ho  was  married  to  Waring  Ashby-^ 
Esquire,  ofQuenby  Hall  in  tho  county  of  Leicester,  and  died 
in  child-bed  of  her  only  son  George  Ashby,  Esquire,  late  of 
Haselbeacli  in  Northamptonshire.  Richard,  the  eldest  son  of 
Archdeacon  Cumberland,  died  unmarried  at  tlie  age  of  twen- 
ty-nine, and  tne  younger,  Denison,  so  named  from  his  mo- 
ther, was  my  father.  He  was  educated  at  Westminster 
school,  and  from  that  admitted  fellow-commoner  of  Trinity 
College,  in  Cambridge.  He  married  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
two,  and  though  in  possession  of  an  independent  fortune,  was 
readily  prevailed  upon  by  his  father-in -iav/  Doctor  Bentley, 
to  take  the  rectory  of  Stanwick  in  the  county  of  Northamp- 
ton, given  to  him  by  Lord  Chancellor  King,  as  soon  as  he  was 
of  age  to  hold  it.  From  this  period  he  fixed  his  constant  re- 
sidence in  that  retired  and  tranquil  spot,  and  sedulously  de- 
voted himself  to  the  duties  of  his  function.  When  I  con- 
template the  character  of  this  amiable  man,  I  declare  to 
truth  I  never  yet  knew  one  so  happily  endowed  with  those 
engaging  qualities,  wiiich  are  formed  to  attract  and  fix  the 
love  and  esteem  of  mankind.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole 
spirit  of  his  grandfather's  benevolence  had  been  transfused 
into  his  heart,  and  that  he  bore  as  perfect  a  resem.blance  of 
him  in  goodness,  as  he  did  in  person  :  in  mortal  purity  he 
was  truly  a  Christian,  in  generosity  and  honour  he  was  per- 
fectly a  gentleman. 

On  the  nineteenth  day  of  February,  1732,  I  was  born  in 
the  Master's  Lodge  of  Trinity  College,  inter  silvas  Acadtmi^ 
under  the  roof  of  my  grandfather  Bentley,  in  what  is  called 
the  Jiidge^s  Chamber,  Having  therefore  prefaced  my  history 
with  these  few  faint  sketches  of  the  great  and  good  men, 
whom  I  have  the  honour  to  number  amongst  my  ancestors. 


"16  MEMOIRS  OF 

I  must  solicit  the  condescension  of  my  readers  to  a  much 
humbler  topic,  and  proceed  to  speak  professedly  of  myself. 

Here  then  for  awhile  I  pause  for  self-examination,  and  to 
^veigh  theiask  1  am  about  to  undertake.  I  look  into  my 
lieart ;  I  search  my  understanding-;  I  review  my  life,  my 
labours,  the  talents  I  have  been  endowed  with,  and  the  uses 
J  have  put  them  to,  and  it  shall  be  my  serious  study  not  to  be 
found  guilty  of  any  partial  estimates,  any  false  appreciations 
of  that  self,  either  as  author  or  man,  whichof  necessity  must 
be  made  to  fill  so  large  a  portion  of  the  following  pages. 
When  from  the  date,  at  which  my  history  now  pauses,  I 
look  forward  "through  a  period  of  more  than  seventy  and  two 
years,  I  discover  nothing  within  my  horizon,  of  which  to  be 
vain  glorious ;  no  sudden  heights  to  turn  me  giddy,  no  daz- 
zling gleams  of  fortune's  sunshine  to  bewilder  me  ;  nothing 
but  one  long  laborious  track,  not  often  strewed  with  roses, 
and  thorny,  cold  and  barren  towards  the  conclusion  of  it, 
where  weariness  wants  repose,  and  age  has  need  of  comfort. 
i  see  myself  unfortunately  cast  upon  a  lot  in  life  neither  con- 
genial with  m.y  character,  nor  friendly  to  my  peace  ;  com- 
bating with  dependejice,  disappointment  and  disgusts  of  va- 
lious  sorts,  transplanted  from  a  college,  within  whose  walls 
I  had  devoted  myself  to  studies,  which  I  pursued  with  ardent 
passion  and  a  rising^reputation,  and  what  to  ol^tain  ?  What, 
but  the  experience  of  difficulties,  and  the  credit  of  oa'c room- 
ing them  ;  the  useful  chastisement,  w^hich  unkindness  has 
inllicted,  and  the  conscious  satisfaction  of  not  having  merited, 
nor  in  any  instance  of  my  life  revenged  it  ? 

If  I  do  not  know  myself  I  am  not  fit  to  be  my  own  biogra- 
pher ;  and  if  I  do  know  myself  I  am  sure  I  never  took  de- 
light in  egotisms,  and  now  behold  !  I  am  self-devoted  to  deal 
in  little  else.  Be  it  so  !  I  will  abide  the  consequences  ;  I  will 
not  tell  untruths  to  set  myself  out  for  better  than  I  havebeen, 
but  as  I  have  not  been  overpaid  by  my  contem.poraries,  I 
will  not  scruple  to  exact  what  is  due  to  me  from  posterity. — 
Ipse  de  vie  scriham,     (Cic.) 

I  have  said  that  I  was  born  on  the  1 9th  of  February, 
1732  ;  I  was  not  the  eldest  child,  though  the  only  son,  of 
my  mother ;  my  sister  Joanna  was  more  than  two  years  old- 
er than  I,  and  more  tha^  t^ice  two  years  before  me  in  ap- 
prehension, for  whilst  she  profited  very  rapidly  by  her  mo- 
ther's teaching,  I  by  no  means  trod  in  her  steps,  but  en  the 
contrary  after  a  fev/  unpromising  efforts  psremptorily  gave 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  17 

up  the  cause,  and  persisted  in  a  stubborn  repugnance  to  ail 
instruction.  My  mother's  good  sense  and  my  grandfather's 
good  advice  concun-ed  in  the  measures  to  be  taken  with  nie 
in  this  state  of  mutiny  against  all  the  powers  of  the  alphabet ; 
my  book  was  put  before  me,  my  lesson  pointed  out,  and  tho' 
I  never  articulated  a  single  word,  I  conned  it  over  in  si- 
lence to  myself.  I  have  traces  of  my  sensations  at  tliis  pe- 
riod still  in  my  mind,  and  perfectly  recollect  the  revolt  I 
received  from  reading  of  the  Heathen  Idols,  described  in  the 
11 5th  psalm  as  having  eyes  and  not  seeing,  ears  and  not 
hearing,  with  other  contrarieties,  which  betvveen  positive  and 
negative  so  completely  overset  my  small  stock  of  ideas,  that 
I  obstinately  stood  fast  upon  the  halt,  dumb  and  insensible  to 
instruction  as  the  images  in  question.  Of  this  circumstance, 
exactly  as  I  relate  it,  with  those  sensations,  which  it  impress- 
ed upon  my  infantine  mind,  I  now  retain,  as  I  have  already 
said,  distinct  recollection. 

If  there  is  any  moral  in  this  small  incident,  which  can  im- 
part a  Cc>utionary  hint  to  the  teachers  of  children,  my  readers 
v/ill  forgive  me  for  treating  them  with  a  story  of  the  nursery. 
I  have  only  to  add,  that  when  I  at  length  took  to  my  business 
I  have  my  mother's  testimony  for  saying  that  I  repaid  her 
patience. 

My  family  divided  their  time  between  Cambridge  and 
Stan  wick  so  long  as  my  grandfather  lived,  and  when  I  was 
turned  of  six  years  I  was  sent  to  tlie  school  at  Bury  Saint 
Edmund's,  then  under  the  mastership  of  the  Reverend  Ar- 
thur Kinsman,  w^ho  formed  his  scholars  upon  the  system  of 
Westminster,  and  was  a  Trinity  College  man,  much  es- 
teemed by  my  grandfather.  This  school,  when  I  came  to 
it,  was  in  high  reputation,  and  nnmbered  a  hundred  and 
fifty  boys.  Kinsman  was  an  excellent  master,  a  very  suffi- 
cient scholar,  and  had  all  the  professional  requisites  of  voice, 
air  and  aspect,  that  marked  him  out  at  first  sight  as  a  per- 
sonag'e  decidedly  made  on  purpose — habere  imtierium  in 
p.uerGs.  In  his  hands  I  can  truly  witness  the  reins  of  empire 
never  slackened,  but  we  did  not  murmur  against  his  autho- 
rity, for  with  all  his  warmth  of  temper  he  was  kind,  cordial^, 
open-hearted,  and  an  impartial  administrator  of  punishments 
and  praises,  as  they  were  respectively  deserved.  His  name 
was  high  in  the  counties  of  Suffolk  and  Norfolk,  and  the  chief 
families  in  those  parts  were  present  v/ith  him  in  the  persons  of 
their  representatives;  and  some  yet  living  can  bear  witness  to 

D  2 


18  MEMOIRS  OF 

the  vigour  of  his  arm.  He  was  fiery jzealous  for  the  honor  of 
his  school,which  by  the  terms  of  its  establishment  was  subject 
to  the  visitation  of  those  who  were  in  the  government  of  it,  8c 
I  remember  upon  a  certain  occasion,  when  these  gentlemen 
entered  the  school-room,  in  the  execution  of  their  office,  (I 
being  then  in  the  rostrum  in  the  act  of  construing  Juvenal) 
he  ordered  me  to  proceed  without  noticing  their  appearance, 
and  something  having  passed  to  give  him  offence  against 
one  of  their  number  in  particular,  taking  up  the  passage 
then  under  immediate  recitation,  he  (Echoed  forth  in  a  loud 
and  pointed  tone  of  voice — 

A'osy  A'ostj^aque  Uvidus  odit. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  my  good  old  master  had  a  vaunt- 
ing kind  of  style  in  setting  forth  his  school,  and  once  in 
conversation  with  my  grandfather  in  Trinity  Lodge,-  he  was 
so  unaccountably  misled  by  the  spirit  of  false  prophecy,  as 
to  venture  to  say  in  a  rallying  kind  of  way— ^'  Master,  I  will 
make  your  gi^andson  as  good  a  scholar  as  yourself." — To 
this  Doctor  Bentley  in  the  like  vein  of  raillery  replied — ^ 
*'  Pshaw,  Arthur,  how  can  that  be,  when  I  have  forgot  more 
than  thou  ever  knew'st  V  Certain  it  is  that  my  inauspicious 
beginnings  angered  very  ill  for  the  bold  prediction,  thus 
improvidently  hazarded  ;  for  so  supremely  idle  was  I,  and 
so  far  from  being  animated  by  the  charms  of  the  Latin  gram- 
mar, that  the  labour  of  instruction  w^as  but  labour  lost,  and 
it  seemed  a  chance  if  I  was  destined  to  arrive  at  any  other 
acquirement  but  the  art  cf  sinking j  in  which  I  regularly  pro- 
ceeded till  I  found  my  proper  station  at  the  very  bottom  of 
my  class,  which,  as  far  as  idleness  could  be  my  security,  I 
was  likely  to  take  lasting  possession  of. 

I  am  persuaded  hoAvever  that  the  tranquillity  of  my  igno- 
rance would  have  suffered  no  interruption  from  the  remon- 
strances of  the  worthy  usher  of  the  uuder-school,  who  satin 
a  plaid  night-gown  and  let  things  take  their  course,  had  not 
the  penetrating  eye  of  old  Kinsman  discovered  the  grandson 
of  his  friend  fir  in  the  rear  of  the  line  of  honour,  and  in  a 
iuir  train  to  give  the  flattest  contradiction  to  his  prophecy. 
Whereupon  one  day,  which  by  me  can  never  be  forgotten, 
calling  me  up  to  him  in  his  chair  at  the  head  of  the  school, 
he  began  with  much  solemnity  and  in  a  loud  voice  to  lecture 
me  very  sharply,  whilst  all  eyes  were  upon  me,  all  ears 
€)pen,  and  a  dead  silence,  horrible  to  my  feelings,  did  not 
leave  a  hope  th?,t  a  jingle  word  had  escaped  the  aotice  of 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.-  19 

my  school-fellows.  I  well  remember  his  demanclin  15  of  mc 
what  report  I  could  expect  him  to  make  of  me  to  my  grand- 
fiither  Bentley .  I  shuddered  at  the  name,  even  at  that  early 
age  s6  loved  and  so  revered  :  I  made  no  defence  ;  I  had 
none  to  make,  and  he  went  thunderin.^  on,  farther  perhaps 
than  he  need  to  have  gone,  had  he  given  less  scope  to  his 
zeal,  and  trusted  more  to  his  intuition,  for  the  keenness  of 
his  reproof  had  sunk  into  my  heart ;  I  was  covered  with 
shame  and  confusion  ;  I  retired  abashed  to  my  seat,  which 
wtis  the  lowest  in  my  class,  and  that  class  the  lowest  save 
one  in  the  under-school  :  I  hid  my  face  between  my  hands, 
resting  my  head  upon  the  desk  before  me,  and  gave  myself 
up  to  tears  and  contrition  :  when  I  raised  my  eyes  and  look- 
ed about  me,  I  thought  I  discovered  contempt  in  the  coun- 
tenances of  the  boys.  At  that  moment  the  spirit  of  emula- 
tion, which  had  not  yet  awaked  in  my  heart,  was  thoroughly 
roused  ;  but  whilst  I  was  thus  resolving  on  a  reform  I  fell 
ill,  whetlier  from  agitation  of  mind,  or  from  cause  more  na- 
tural I  know  not :  I  was,  however,  laid  up  in  a  sick  bed  for 
a  considerable  time,  and  in  that  piteous  situation  visited  by 
my  mother,  who  came  from  Cambridge  on  the  alarm,  and 
under  her  tender  care  I  at  length  regained  both  my  spirits 
and  my  health. 

My  mother  now  returned  to  Cambridge  and  I  was  taken 
into  Khisman's  own  house  ^s  a  boarder,  where  being  associ- 
ated with  boys  of  a  better  description,  and  more  immediately 
under  the  eye  of  my  most  timely  admonisher,  I  took  all  the 
pains  that  my  years  would  admit  of  to  deserve  his  better 
opinion  and  regain  my  lost  ground.  My  diligence  was  soon 
followed  by  success,  aiasl  success  encouraged  me  to  fresh 
exertions. 

I  presume  the  teachers  of  grammar  do  not  expect  boys  of 
IX  very  early  age  to  understand  it  as  a  body  of  rules,  but 
merely  as  an  exercise  of  memory  ;  yet  it  is  well  to  imprint 
it  on  their  memories,  that  they  may  more  readily  apply  to 
it  as  they  advance  in  their  acquaintance  with  the  language. 
I  had  naturally  a  good  memory,  and  practice  added  such  a 
facility  of^etting  by  heart,  that  in  my  repetitions,  when  we 
challenged  for  places,  1  entered  the  lists  with  all  possible 
advantages,  and  soon  found  my  self  able  to  break  a  lance  with 
the  very  best  of  my  competitors.  The  good  man  in  the 
.plaid  gov/n  now  began  to  regard  me  v.ith  less  than  his  usual 
indiflerenccj  and  my  early  star  was  evidently  in  the  ascend-. 


20  MEMOIRS  OF 

ant.  Such  were  to  me  the  happy  consequences  of  my 
worthy  master's  seasonable  admonition. 

After  the  decease  of  Mrs.  Bentley,  my  mother,  whose  de- 
votion to  her  father  was  returned  by  the  warmest  affection 
on  his  part,  passed  much  of  her  time,  as  my  father  did  of  his, 
at  Cambridge  ;  there  I  also  passed  my  holidays,  and  the 
undescribable  gratification  those  delightful  seasons  gave  me, 
has  left  traces  of  the  times  long  past  and  the  persons  now 
dead,  that  can  only  be  effaced  by  death,  and  of  their  surviv- 
ing even  that  I  should  be  loth  to  lose  the  hope.  I  was  be- 
come capable  of  understanding  my  grandfather  to  be  the  great 
man  he  really  was,  and  began  to  listen  to  him  with  attention, 
and  treasure  up  his  sayings  in  my  mind.  I  was  admitted  to 
dine  at  his  table,  had  my  seat  next  to  his  chair,  served  him 
in  many  little  offices,  and  went  upon  his  errands  with  a 
promptitude  and  alacrity  that  shewed  what  pride  I  took  in 
such  commissions,  and  tempted  his  good  nature  to  invent 
occassions  for  employing  me. 

One  day  I  full  well  remember  my  old  master  Kinsman 
walked  into  the  room,  and  was  welcomed  by  my  grandfatlier 
with  the  cordiality  natural  to  him.  In  the  mean  time  my 
heart  fluttered  with  alarm  and  dread  of  that  report,  which  he 
had  once  threatened  to  prefer  against  me  ;  nothing  could  be 
further  from  his  generous  thoughts,  and  as  soon  as  ever  he 
was  at  leisure  to  notice  such  an  i insignificant  little  being,  it 
was  with  the  affection  and  caresses  of  a  father  ;  when  I 
looked  in  his  face  there  was  no  longer  any  feature  of  the 
school-master  in  it,  the  terrors  of  the  ferula  and  the  rod  were 
vanished  out  of  sight,  and  that  upright  strutting  little  person 
which  in  authority  was  so  awful,  had  now  relaxed  from  its 
rigidity,  and  no  longer  strove  to  swell  itself  into  importance. 
Arthur  notwithstanding  was  a  great  man  on  his  own  ground, 
and  though  he  venerated  the  master  of  Trinity  College, 
he  did  not  renounce  a  proper  self-esteem  for  the  master 
of  Bury  School,  and  the  dignity  appertaining  to  that  office, 
which  he  filled,  and  to  which  Bentley  him.self  had  once 
stooped  for  instruction.  He  v/as  a  gay  social  fellow,  who 
loved  his  frier^d  and  had  no  antipathy  to  his  bottle  ;  he  had 
then  a  kind  of  dashing  discourse,  savouring  somewhat  of 
the  shofl^  which  trifles  did  not  check,  and  contradiction  could 
not  daunt.  Ke  had  at  this  very  time  been  recreating  his 
spirit  with  the  company  in  the  combination  room,  and 
\j2i%  fairly  primed  v/ith  priestly  port.     My  grandfather  I 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  21 

dare  say  discovered  nothinj^  of  this,  and  Walker,  who  ac- 
companied Kinsman  to  the  lodge,  was  exactly  in  that  state 
when  silence  is  the  best  resort  :  Arthur  in  the  mean  time, 
whose  tongue  conviviality  had  by  no  means  tied  up,  began 
to  open  his  school  books  upon  Bentley,  and  had  drawn  him 
into  Homer ;  Greek  now  rolled  in  torrents  from  the  lips  of 
Bentley,  and  the  most  learned  of  moderns  chanted  forth  the 
inspired  rhapsodies  of  the  most  illustrious  of  ancients  in  a 
strain  delectable  indeed  to  the  ear,  but  not  very  edifying  to 
poor  little  me  and  the  ladies  ;  nay,  I  should  even  doubt  if 
the  master  of  Bury  School  understood  all  that  he  heard,  but 
that  the  Avorthy  vice  master  of  Trinity  was  innocent  of  all 
apprehension,  and  clear  of  the  plot,  if  treason  was  wrapped 
up  in  it,  I  can  upon  my  knowledge  of  him  confidently  vouch. 
This,  however,  I  remember,  and  my  mother  has  frequent- 
ly in  time  past  refreshed  my  recollection  of  it,  that  Joshua 
Barnes  in  tpe  course  of  this  conversation  being  quoted  by 
Kinsman,  as  a  man  understanding  Greek,  and  speaking  it 
almost  like  his  mother  tongue — ."  Yes,"  replied  Bentley, 
"  I  do  believe  that  Barnes  had  as  much  Greek,  and  under- 
"  stood  it  about  as  well,  as  an  Athenian  blacksmith.'*  Of 
Pope's  Homer  he  said  that  he  he  had  read  it ;  it  was  an  ele-« 
gant  poem,  but  no  translation.  Of  the  learned  Warburton, 
then  in  the  outset  of  his  fame,  he  remarked  that  there  seem- 
ed to  be  in  him  a  voracious  appetite  for  knowledge  ;  he 
doubted  if  there  was  a  good  digestion.  This  is  an  anecdote 
I  refer  to  those  w^ho  are  competent  to  make  or  reject  the  ap- 
plica  Aon. 

At  no  great  distance  of  time  from  this  period,  which  I 
have  been  now  recording,  Doctor  Bentley  died  and  was  bu- 
ried in  Trinity  College  chapel  by  the  side  of  the  altar  table, 
where  a  square  black  stone  records  his  name  and  J&othing 
more.  It'remains  with  the  munificence  of  that  rich  society 
to  award  him  other  monumental  honours,  whenever  they 
may  think  it  right  to  grace  his  memory  with  a  tablet.  He 
was  seized  with  a  complaint  that  in  his  opinion,  seemed  to 
indicate  a  necessity  of  immediate  bleeding  ;  Dr.  Heberden, 
then  a  young  physician  practising  in  Cambi  idge,  w^as  of  a 
contrary  opinion,  and  the  patient  acquiesced.  His  friend 
Dr.  Waliis,  in  whose  skilful  practice  and  experience  he  so 
justly  placed  his  confidence,  v/as  unfortunately  absent  from 
Stamford,  ajid  never  came  upon  the  summons  for  any  pur- 
pose but  to  share  in  the  sorrows  of  his  family,  and  lamen^ 


^^  MEMOIRS  OF 

the  Ron-compilance  with  the  process  he  had  recomTnended, 
which,,  accordmg  to  his  judgment  ol  the  case,  was  the  very 
measure  he  should  himself  have  taken. 

I  believe  I  fell  as  much  affiiction  as  my  age  was  capable  of 
when  my  master  Kinsmcin  imparted  the  intelligence  of  my 
grandfather's  deuth  to  me,  taking  me  into  his  private  cham- 
ber, and  lamenting  the  event  v/ith  great  agitation.  Whilst 
I  gave  vent  to  my  tears,  he  pressed  me  tenderly  in  his  arms, 
and  encouraging  me  to  persist  in  my  dilligence,  assured  me 
of  his  favour  and  protection.  He  kept  me  out  of  school  for  a 
few  days,  gave  me  private  instruction,  and  then  sent  me 
forth  ardently  resolved  to  acquit  myself  to  his  satisfaction. 
From  this  time  I  may  truly  say  my  tdsk  was  my  delight.  I 
rose  rapidly  to  the  head  of  my  class,  and  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  progress  through  the  upper  school  never  once  lost  my 
place  of  head  boy,  though  drdiy  challenged  by  those,  who 
were  as  anxious  to  dislodge  me  from  my  post  as  I  was  to 
maintain  myself  in  it.  As  1  have  the  honour  to  name  both 
Bishop  Warren,  and  his  brother  Richard,  the  physician,  as 
two  amongst  the  most  formidable  of  my  form -fellows,  I  may 
venture  to  say  that  school  boy  must  have  been  more  than 
commonly  alert,  whom  they  could  not  overtake  and  depose  ; 
but  the  exertion  of  my  competitors  was  such  a  spur  to  my 
industry  and  ambition,  tiiat  my  mind  v/as  perpetually  in  its 
business.  Had  I  in  any  careless  moment  suffered  a  discom- 
fiture, my  mortification  would  have  been  most  poignant,  but 
the  dread  I  had  of  that  event  caused  me  always  to  be  pre- 
pared against  it,  and  I  held  possession  of  my  post  under  a 
suspended  sword,  that  hourly  menaced  me  without  ever 
dropping. 

Whilst  I  dwell  on  the  detail  of  anecdotes  like  the  above  I 
must  refer  myself  to  the  candour  of  the  reader,  but  though 
it  behoves  me  to  study  brevity,  where  I  cannot  furnish  amuse- 
njent,  it  would  be  totally  inconsistent  with  the  plan  I  have 
laid  do^vn,  to  pass  over  in  total  silence  this  period  of  my 
life  ;  an  ssra  in  the  history  of  every  man's  mind  and  charac- 
ter, only  to  be  omitted  when  it  is  not  to  be  obtained  ;  a  plea, 
which  those,  who  are  their  own  biographers,  are  not  privi- 
leged to  make. 

My  good  old  master  was  a  hospitable  man,  and  every 
Wednesday  held  a  kind  of  public  day,  to  v/hich  his  friends 
and  neighbours  used  to  resort.  On  that  day  he  drank  his 
bpttle  of  port  and  played  his  game  of  back-gammon,  after 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  23 

which  he  came  in  gaiety  of  heart  to  evening-school  for  one 
hour  only.  It  was  a  gala  day  for  all  the  boys,  and  for  me  in 
particular,  as  I  was  sure  on  all  those  occasions  to  be  ordered 
up  to  the  rostrum  to  recite  and  expound  Juvenal,  and  he  sel- 
dom failed  to  keep  me  so  employed  through  the  whole  time. 
He  had  a  great  partiality  for  that  nervous  author,  and  L  re- 
member his  reciting  the  following  passage  in  a  kind  of  rap- 
turous enthusiasm  in  the  ears  of  all  the  school,  crying  out 
that  he  defied  the  writers  of  the  Augustan  age  to  produce  one 
equal  to  it — The  classical  reader  very  probably  will  not  se- 
cond his  opinion,  but  I  dare  say  he  will  not  fail  to  anticipate 
tho  passage  which  is  as  follows — 

Esto  bonus  viiles^  tutor  bonus^  arbiter  idem 
Integer  ;  ambiguas  siquando  citabere  causes^ 
InceiHcsque  reij  Phalaris  licet  imfierit  ut  sis 
Falsus^  ct  admoto  dictet  fierjuria  Tauro^ 
Summum  crcde  nefas  animani  fireferre  padovi^ 
Et  {irofiter  vitam  -vivendi  perdere  causas. 
This  is  unquestionably  a  fine  passage  and  a  sublime  mor- 
al, but  I  rather  suspect  there  is  a  quaintness,  and  something 
of  what  the  Italians  call  concetto^  in  the  concluding  line,  that 
is  not  quite  in  the  style  and  cast  o'f  the  purer  age. 

The  tasks  of  a  school  boy  are  of  three  desciiptions  ;  he 
is  to  give  the  construction  of  his  author,  to  study  his  repeti- 
tions, and  to  write  what  are  called  his  exercises,  whether  in 
verse  or  prose.  In  the  former  two,  the  tasks  of  construing 
and  saying  by  heart,  it  was  the  usage  of  our  school  to  chal- 
lenge for  places  :  In  this  province  my  good  fortune  v/as  un- 
clouded ;  in  my  exercises  I  did  not  succeed  so  well,  for  by 
aiming  at  something  like  fancy  and  invention  I  was  too  fre- 
quently betrayed  into  grammatical  errors,  whilst  my  rivals 
presented  exercises  with  fewer  faults,  and,  by  attempting 
scarcely  any  thing,  hazarded  little.  These  premature  and 
imperfect  sallies,  v/hich  I  gave  way  to,  did  me  no  credit 
with  my  master,  and  once  in  particular  upon  my  giving  in  a 
copy  of  Latin  verses,  unpardonably  incorrect,  though  not 
entirely  void  of  imagination,  he  commented  upon  m.y  blun- 
ders with  great  severity,  and  in  the  hearing  of  my  form  fel- 
lows threatened  to  degrade  me  from  my  station  ait  their  head. 
I  had  earned  that  station  by  hard  labour  and  unceasing  assi- 
duity ;  I  ha.d  maintained  it  against  their  united  efforts  for 
some  years,  and  the  dread  of  being  at  once  deprived  of  v/hat 
they  had  not  been  able  to  take  from  me^  had  such  tx\  eftect 


24  MEMOIRS   OF 

on  my  sensibility,  that  I  never  perfectly  recovered  it,  and 
probably  should  at  no  time  after  have  gained  any  credit  in 
that  branch  of  my  school-business,  had  I  not  been  transplant- 
ed to  Westminster. 

The  exercise,  for  which  I  was  reprehended,  I  well  remem- 
ber was  a  copy  of  verses  upon  Phalaris's  bull,  which  bull  I 
comess  led  me  into  some  blunders,  that  my  master  might 
have  observed  upon  with  more  temper.  I  stood  in  need  of 
instruction,  and  he  inflicted  discouragement. 

Though  I  love  the  memory  of  my  good  old  master,  and 
am  under  infinite  obligations  to  his  care  and  kindness,  yet 
having  severely  experienced  how  poignant  are  the  inflictions 
of  discouragement  to  the  feelings,  and  how  repulsive  to  the 
efforts  of  the  unformed  embryo  genius,  I  cannot  state  this 
circumstance  in  any  better  light  than  as  oversight  in  point 
education,  which,  though  well-intentioned  on  his  part,  could 
only  operate  to  destroy  what  it  was  his  object  to  improve. 

When  the  talents  of  a  young  and  rising  author  shall  be 
found  to  profit  by  the  denunciations  and  brow-beatings  of 
his  hypocritical  contemporaries,  then,  and  not  till  then,  it 
will  be  right  to  train  up  our  children  according  to  tais  sys- 
tem, and  discouragement  be  the  best  model  for  education, 
which  the  conductors  of  it  can  adopt. 

As  our  master  had  lately  discontinued  his  custom  of  let- 
ting his  boys  act  a  play  of  Terence  before  the  Christmas  ho- 
lidays, after  the  example  of  Westminster,  some  of  us  under- 
took without  his  leave,  though  probably  not  without  his 
knowledge  and  connivance,  to  get  up  the  tragedy  of  Cato, 
at  one  of  the  boarding-houses,  and  invite  the  gentry  of  the 
town  to  be  present  at  our  childish  exnibition.  We  escaped 
from  school  one  evening,  and  climbed  the  wall  that  intercept- 
ed us  from  the  scene  of  action,  to  prepare  ourselves  for  this 
goodly  show.  A  full-bottomed  perrivvig  for  Cato,  and  fe- 
male attire  for  Portia  and  Marcia  borrowed  from  the  maids 
of  the  lodging  house,  were  the  chief  articles  of  our  scanty 
w^ardrobe,  and  of  a  piece  with  the  wretchedness  of  our  pro- 
perty was  the  wretchedness  of  our  performance.  Our  audi- 
ence,however,  which  was  not  very  select,  endured  us  and  we 
slept  upon  our  laurels,  till  the  next  morning  being  made  to 
turn  out  for  the  amusement  of  the  whole  school,  and  go  thro' 
a  scene  or  two  of  the  evening's  entertainment,  we  acquitted 
ourselves  so  little  to  the  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Kinsman,  that 
after  bestowing  some  hearty  buffets  upon  the  virtuous  Mar- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  :. . 

cia,  who  had  tovjered  above  hn*  sex  in  the  person  of  a  most 
ill-favoured  wry-necked  bo)',  the  rest  of  our  dramatis  ^ierso7ia: 
was  sentenced  to  the  fine  of  an  imposition,  and  dismissed. 
The  part  of  Juba  had  been  my  cast,  and  the  tenth  gwtire  of 
Juvenal  Avas  my  portion  of  the  fine  inflicted. 

It  was  about  this  time  I  made  my  first  attempt  in  English 
verse,  and  took  for  my  subject  an  excursion  I  had  made  Mith 
my  family  in  the  summer  holidays  to  visit  a  relation  in 
Hampshire,  which  engaged  me  in  a  description  of  the  docks 
at  Portsmouth,  and  of  the  races  of  Winchester,  where  I  had 
been  present.  I  believe  my  poem  Wits  not  short  of  a  hun- 
dred lines,  and  was  written  at  such  times  as  I  could  snatch  a 
few  minutes  from  my  business  or  amusements.  I  did  not 
like  to  risk  the  consequences  of  confiding  it  to  my  school- 
fellows, but  kept  it  closely  secret  till  the  next  breaking  \\\)^ 
when  I  exhibited  it  to  my  father,  who  received  it  after  his 
gracious  manner  with  unreserved  commendation,  and  per- 
sisted in  reciting  it  to  his  intimates,  when  I  had  gained  expe- 
rience enough  to  wish  he  had  consigned  it  to  oblivion. 

Though  I  have  no  copy  of  this  childish  performance,  I 
bear  in  my  remembrance  two  introductory  couplets,  which 
were  the  first  English  lines  I  ever  wrote,  and  are  as  fol- 
lows : — 

Sijice  every  scribbler  claims  his  share  offame^ 
And  every  Cibber  boasts  a  Dryden^s  name^ 
Permit  an  infant  Muse  her  chance  to  try  ; 
All  have  a  right  to  that^  and  ivhy  not  I? 
One  other  lame  and  miserable  couplet  just  now  occurs 
to  me,  as  being  quoted  frequently  upon  me  by  my  mother 
as  an  instance  in  the  art  of  sijiking^  and  it  is  clear  I  had 
stumbled   upon   it  in   my  description    of  the    dock-vard* 
viz — 

"  Here  they  iveave  cabtes^  there  they  main -masts  for  my 
"  Here  they  forge  anchors — useful  in  a  storm.'^ 
My  good  father  however  was  not  to  be  put  by  from  his 
defences  by  trifles,  and  stoutly  stood  by  my  anchors,  con- 
tending that  as  they  were  unquestionably  useful  in  a  storm, 
I  had  said  no  more  of  them  than  was  true,  and  why  should  I 
be  ashamed  of  having  spoken  the  truth  ?  Yet  ashamed  I  v/as 
some  short  time  after,  not  indeed  for  having  violated  the 
truth,  but  for  suppressing  it,  and  my  dilemma  Avas  occasion- 
ed by  the  follov/ing  circumstance.  I  had  picked  up  an  epi- 
^ram  amongst  my  school-fellovrs,  which  struck  mV  fu.n:;> 

c 


26  MEMOIRS  OF 

and  wiihout  naming  the  author,  (for  I  knew  him  not,)  I  re- 
peated it  to  my  father — it  was  this — 

Foets  of  old  did  Argus  Jirize 
Because  he  had  an  hundred  cyes^ 
But  sure  more  jiraise  to  him  is  due^ 
Who  looks  an  hundred  ways  ivith  two. 

In  repeating  this  epigram,  which  perhaps  the  reader  can 
find  an  author  for,  I  did  not  give  it  out  as  my  own,  but  it  was 
so  understood  by  my  father,  and  he  circulated  it  as  mine, 
and  took  pleasure  in  repeating  it  as  such  amongst  his  friends 
and  intimates.  In  this  state  of  the  mistake,  when  his  credit 
had  been  affixed  to  it,  I  had  not  courage  to  disavow  it,  and 
the  time  being  once  gone  by  for  saving  my  honor,  I  suffered 
him  to  persist  in  his  error  under  the  continual  terror  of  de- 
tection. The  dread  of  thus  forfeiting  his  good  opinion  hung 
upon  my  spirits  for  a  length  of  time  ;  it  passed  however  un- 
discovered to  the  end  of  his  life,  and  I  now  implore  pardon 
of  his  memory  for  the  only  fallacy  I  ever  put  upon  him  to 
the  conviction  of  my  conscience. 

After  the  death  of  Doctor  Bentley  my  family  resided  in 
the  parsonage  house  of  Stanwick  near  Highan  Ferrers  in 
Northamptonshire  ;  it  had  been  newly  built  from  the  ground 
by  my  father's  predecessor  Doctor  Needham,  from  a  plan  of 
Mr.  Burroughs  of  Caius  College,  an  architect  of  no 
small  reputation  ;  it  was  a  handsome  square  of  four  equal 
fronts,  built  of  stone,  containing  four  rooms  on  a  floor, 
with  a  gallery  running  through  the  center ;  it  was  seated 
on  the  declivity  of  a  gentle  hill,  with  the  village  to  the 
south,  amongst  trees  and  pasture  grounds  in  view,  and  a 
small  stream  in  the  valley  between  ;  on  the  north,  west  and 
south  w^ere  gardens,  on  the  east  the  church  at  some  little 
distance,  and  in  the  intermediate  space  an  excellent  range  of 
stables  and  coeich  houses,  built  by  my  father,  and  forming  one 
side  of  a  square  court  laid  out  for  the  approach  of  carriages 
to  the  house.  The  spire  of  Stanwick  Chuixh  is  esteemed 
one  of  the  m.ost  beautiful  models  in  that  style  of  architecture 
in  the  kingdom ;  my  father  added  a  very  handsome  clock 
and  ornamented  the  chancel  with  a  railing,  screen  and  en- 
tablature upon  three-quarter  columns,  with  a  singing  gallery 
at  the  west  end,  and  spared  no  expense  to  keep  his  church 
not  only  in  that  neatness  and  decorum,  which  befits  the  house 
of  prayer,  but  also  in  a  perfect  state  of  good  and  permiuient 
repair. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  27 

Here  in  the  hearts  of  his  parishioners,  and  the  esteem  of 
his  neighbours,  my  good  father  lived  tranquil  and  unambi- 
tious, never  soliciting  other  preferment  than  this  for  the 
space  of  thirty  years,  holding  only  a  small  prebend  in  the 
church  of  Lincoln,  given  to  him  by  his  uncle,  Bishop  Rey- 
nolds. He  was  in  the  commission  of  the  peace,  and  a  very 
active  magistrate  in  the  reconcilement  of  parties,  rather  than 
in  the  commitment  of  persons:  in  those  quiet  parts  offences 
were  in  general  trivial,  and  the  difierenccs  merely  such  as 
an  attorney  could  contrive  to  hook  a  suit  upon,  so  that  v/itli 
a  very  little  legal  knowledge,  and  a  very  hospitable  generous 
disposition,  my  father  rarely  failed  to  put  contentious  spirits 
to  peace  by  reference  to  the  kitchen  and  the  cellar.  In  the 
iTiean  time  his  popularity  rose  in  proportion  as  his  beer- 
barrels  sunk,  and  as  often  as  he  made  peace  he  made  friends, 
till,  I  may  say  without  exaggeration,  he  hacl  all  men's  good 
word  in  his  favour  and  their  services  at  his  command.  In 
the  mean  time  such  was  the  orderly  behaviour  and  good  dis- 
cipline of  his  own  immediate  flock,  that  I  have  frequently 
heard  him  say  he  never  once  had  occasion  during  his  long 
residence  amongst  them  to  issue  his  warrant  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  his  own  happy  village,  which  being  seated  between 
the  more  populous  and  less  correct  parishes  of  Raunds  and 
Higham-Ferrers,  he  used  appositely  to  call  Little  Zoavy 
but  made  no  further  allusions  to  the  evil  neighbourhood  of 
Zoar, 

In  this  peaceful  spot  with  parents  so  affectionate  I  was  tl-e 
happiest  of  beings  in  my  breakings-up  from  school.  Those 
delightful  scenes  are  fresh  in  my  remembrance,  and  when  I 
have  occasioncilly  revisited  them,  since  the  decease  of  objects 
jcver  so  dear  to  me,  the  sensations  they  have  excited  are  not 
for  me  to  describe.  I  had  inherited  an  excellent  constitu- 
tion, and,  though  not  robust  in  make,  was  more  than  com- 
monly adroit  in  my  athletic  exercises.  In  swiftness  of  foot 
for  a  short  distance  no  boy  in  Bury  School  could  match  me, 
and,  when  at  Cambridge,  I  gave  a  general  challenge  to  the 
collegians,  which  was  decided  in  Trinity  Walks  in  my 
favour. 

Those  field  sports,  of  which  the  young  and  active  are  na- 
turally so  fond,  I  enjoyed  by  my  father's  favour  in  perfec- 
tion, and  in  my  winter  holidays  constantly  went  out  with  him 
upon  his  hunting  days,  and  was  always  admirably  mounted. 
He  was  light  and  elegant  in  his  person,  and  had  in  his  early 


^S  MEMOIRS  OF 

youth  kept  horses  and  rode  matches  at  NeM^market  after  the 
example  of  his  elder  brother  ;  but  though  his  profession  had 
now  put  a  stop  to  those  levities,  he  shared  in  a  pack  of  har- 
riers with  a  neighbouring  gentleman,  and  was  a  bold  and 
excellent  rider.  In  m.y  first  attendances  upon  him  to  the 
field,  the  joys  of  hunting  scarcely  compensated  for  the  terrors 
I  sometimes  felt  in  following  him  against  my  will  upon  a 
racing  galloway,  which  he  had  purchased  of  old  Panton,  and 
■vvhose  attachment  to  her  leader  was  such  as  left  me  no  option 
as  to  the  pace  I  would  wish  to  go,  or  the  leaps  I  would  avoid 
to  take.  At  length  when  age  added  strength  and  practice 
gave  address,  fcills  became  familiar  to  me,  and  I  left  both 
fear  and  prudence  behind  me  in  the  pleasures  of  the  chace. 

It  was  in  these  intervals  fi-om  school  that  my  rriother  began 
to  form  both  my  taste  and  my  car  for  poetry,  by  employing 
me  every  evening  to  read  to  her,  of  which  art  she  was  a  very 
able  mistress.  Our  readings  were  with  very  few  exceptions 
confined  to  the  chosen  plays  of  Shakspeare,  whom  she  both 
admired  and  understood  in  the  true  spirit  and  sense  of  the 
author.  Under  her  instruction  I  became  passionately  fond 
of  these  our  evening  entertainments  ;  in  the  mean  time  she 
v>' as  attentive  to  model  my  recitation,  and  correct  my  manner 
with  exact  precision.  Her  comments  and  illustrations  were 
Spuch  aids  and  instructions  to  a  pupil  in  poetry  as  few  could 
have  given.  What  I  could  not  else  have  understood  she 
<:ould  aptly  explain,  and  what  I  ought  to  admire  and  feel 
nobody  could  more  happily  select  and  recommend.  I  well 
remember  the  care  she  took  to  mark  out  for  my  observation 
t'.c  peculiar  excellence  of  that  unrivalled  poet  in  the  con- 
sistency and  preservation  of  his  characters,  and  wdierever 
instances  occurred  amongst  the  starts  and  sallies  of  his  un- 
lettered fancy  of  the  extravagant  and  false  sublimxC,  her  dis- 
cernment oftentimes  prevented  me  from  bemg  so  dazzled  by 
the  glitter  of  the  period  as  to  misapply  my  admiration,  and 
betray  my  want  of  taste.  With  all  her  father's  critical  actc- 
men  she  could  trace,  and  teach  me  to  unravel,  all  the  mean- 
ders of  his  metaphor,  and  point  out  where  it  illuminated,  or 
v/here  it  '>-aly  loaded  and  obscured  the  meaning  ;  these  were 
happy  hours  a.nd  interesting  lectures  to  me,  whilst  my  be- 
loved father,  ever  placid  and  complacent,  sate  beside  us,  and 
took  part  in  our  amusement :  his  voice  was  never  heard  but 
in  the  tone  of  approbation  ;  his  countenance  never  marked 
but  with  the  natural  traces  of  his  indelible  and  hereditary 
benevolence. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  29 

The  effect  of  these  readuigs  waa- exactly  that,  which  was 
naturally  to  be  foreseen.  I  began  to  try  my  strength  in  sev- 
eral slight  attempts  towards  the  drama,  and  as  Shaks- 
pcare  was  most  upon  my  tongue  and  nearest  to  my  heart,  I 
fitted  and  compiled  a  kind  of  cento^  which  I  entitled  Shakf:- 
fieave  in  the  Shades^  and  formed  into  one  act,  selecting  the 
characters  Hamlet  and  Ophelia,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Lear 
and  Cordelia,  as  the  persons  of  my  drama,  and  giving  to 
Shakspeare,  who  is  present  throughout  the  piece,  Ariel, 
as  an  attendant  spirit,  and  taking  for  the  motto  of  my  title 
page— . 

^st  alii  scx^ 
Et  filiires^  uno  conclamant  ore^—^ 

I  should  premise  that  I  was  now  at  the  head  of  Bury 
Sdiool,  though  only  in  my  twelfth  year,  and  not  very  slight- 
ly grounded  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics,  there  taught. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Elysium,  where  the  poet  is  discov- 
ered and  opens  the  drama  with  the  following  address—. 

"  Most  fair  and  equal  hearers,  knov/,  that  whilst  this  soul 
*'  inhabited  its  fleshy  tabernacle,  I  was  called  Shakspeare  ; 
*'  a  greater  name  and  more  exalted  honours  have  dignified 
"  its  dissolution.  Blest  with  a  liberal  portion  of  the  divine 
^'  spirit,  as  a  tribute  due  to  the  bounty  of  the  gods,  I  left 
"  behind  me  an  immoital  monument  of  my  fame.  Think 
"  not  that  I  boast  ;  the  actions  of  departed  beings  may  not 
"  be  censured  by  any  moilal  wit,  nor  are  accountable  to  any 
"  earthy  tribunal.  Let  it  suffice  that  in  the  grave — 
lVhe?i  zve  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coyle--^ 
"  All  envy  and  detraction,  all  pride  and  vain  glory  are  no 
"  more  ;  still  a  grateful  remembrance  of  humanity,  and  a 
"  tender  regard  for  our  posterity  on  earth  follow  us  to  this 
"  happy  seat ;  and  it  is  in  this  regard  I  deign  once  more  to 
^'  salute  you  with  my  favoured  presence,  and  am  content  to 
"  be  again  an  actor  for  your  sakes.  *  I  have  been  attentive 
*^  to  your  sufferings  at  my  mournful  scenes  ;  guardian  of 
"  that  virtue,  which  I  left  in  distress,  I  come  now,  the  in- 
"  strument  of  Providence,  to  compose  your  sorrows,  and 
"  restore  to  it  the  proportioned  reward.  Those  bleeding'^ 
"  characters,  those  martyred  worthies,  whom  I  have  sent 
"  untimely  to  the  shades,  shall  now  at  length  and  in  your 
"  sight  be  crowned  v/ith  their  beloved  retribution,  and  tl-e 
*^  justice,  which  as  their  poet  I  withheld  from  them,  as  the 

c   3 


30  MEMOIRS  OF 

**  arbiter  and  disposer  of  their  fate,  I  ^Till  award  to  them  ^ 
"  Init  for  the  vHhiin  and  adulterer — 

The  perjured  and  the  sinn/ar  man  ofvirtue-^-* 
'-  the  proud,  the  ambitious,  and  the  murderer,  I  shall— 
Leave  such  to  heaven^ 
And  to  those  thorns^  that  in  their  bosoms  lodge 
To  prick  aiid  sting  them, — 
'^  But  soft  !  I  see  one  coming,  that  often  hath  beguiled  you 
*'  of  your  tears — the  fair  Ophelia — " 

The  several  parties  now  make  their  respective  appeals, 
and  Shakspeare  finally  summons  them  all  before  him  by 
his  agent  Ariel,  for  whose  introduction  he  prepares  the  au- 
dience by  the  following  soliloquy^ — 

*'  Now  comxes  the  period  of  my  high  commission  : 

**  All  have  been  heard,  and  all  shall  be  rcstor'dj 

"   All  errors  blotted  out  and  all  obstructions, 

"  jMortality  entails,  shall  be  remov'd, 

'*  And  from  the  mental  eye  the  film  withdra^nij. 

^'  Which  in  its  corporal  union  had  obscur'd 

^'  And  clouded  the  pure  virtue  of  its  sight. 

**  But  to  these  purposes  I  must  employ 

"  My  ready  spirit  Ariel,  some  time  minister 

*'  To  Prospero,  and  the  obsequious  slave 

<'  Of  his  enchantments,  fi*om  whose  place  preferred 

»•  He  here  attends  to  do  me  ser^ices, 

•*  And  qualifies  these  beings  for  Elysium — 

''  Hoa !  Ariel,  approach  my  dainty  spirit  ! 

(Ariel  enters,) 
All  hail ^  great  master^  grave  sir y  hail  I  I  come 
To  ansiver  thy  best  pleasure  ;  be  it  to  fly  ^ 
To  sivim^  to  dive  iiito  the  fire  ^  to  Hde 
On  the  curled  clouds — to  thy  stro?ig  bidding  task 
Ariel  and  all  Jus  qualities—^ 

Skakespcarf . 

"  Know  then,  spirit, 
^  Into  this  grove  six  shades  consign^  to  bliss 
^'  I've  separately  remov'd,  of  each  sex  three  ; 
*'  Unheard  of  one  another  and  unseen 
^  There  they  abide,  yet  each  to  each  endear'd 
^'  By  ties  of  strong  affection  :  not  the  same 
^<  Their  several  objects,  though  the  effects  alike^ 
'■^  But  husband,  father,  lover  make  the  change. 
.^  Now  though  the  body's  perish'd,  yet  are  they 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  31 

**  Fresh  from  their  sins  and  bleeding  with  their  wrongs  ; 
"  Therefore  all  sense  of  injury  remove, 
**  Heal  up  their  wounded  faculties  anew, 
"  And  pluck  affliction's  arrow  from  tiieir  hearts  ; 
*'  Refine  tlieir  passions,  for  gross  sensual  love 
"  Let  it  become  a  pure  and  faultless  friendships^ 
^'  Raise  and  confirm  their  joys,  let  them  exchange 
"  Their  fleeting  pleasures  for  immortal  peace  ; 
"  This  done,  with  speed  conduct  them  each  to  other 
"  So  chang'd,  and  set  the  happy  choir  before  me." 
I  have  the  whole  of  this  puerile  production,  written  in  a 
school-boy's  hand,  which  by  some  chance  has  escaped  the 
general  wreck,  in  which  I  have  lost  some  records,  that  I 
should  now  be  glad  to  resort  to.     I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I 
act  fairly  by  my  readers  when  I  give  any  part  of  it  a  place  in 
these  memoirs,  yet  as  an  instance  of  the  impression,  which 
my  mother's  lectures  had  made  upon  my  youthful  fancy,  and 
perhaps  as  a  sample  of   composition   indicative  of  more 
thought  and  contrivance,  than  are  commonly  to  be  found  in 
boys  at  so  very  early  an  age,  I  shall  proceed  to  transcribe 
the  concluding  part  of  the  scene,  in  which  Romeo  has  his 
audience,  and  can  truly  affirm  that  the  copy  is  faithful  with- 
out the  alteration  or  addition  of  a  single  word — 
Romeo, 
"  — O  thou,  the  great  disposer  of  my  fate, 
"  Judge  of  my  actions,  patron  of  my  cause, 
"  Tear  not  asunder  such  united  hearts, 
"  But  give  me  up  to  love  and  to  my  Juliet. 

Shaksjiea7^€, 
"  Unthinking  youth,  thou  dost  forget  thyself ; 
"  Rash  inconsiderate  boy,  must  I  again 
,     '^  Remind  thee  of  thy  fate  ?  What!  know'st  thou  not 
"  The  man,  whose  desperate  hand  foredoes  himself, 
^'  Is  doom'd  to  wander  on  the  Stygian  shore 
"  A  restless  shade^  forlorn  and  comfortless, 
^'  For  a  whole  age  ?  Nor  shall  he  hope  to  sooth 
"  The  callous  ear  of  Charon,  till  he  win 
"  His  passion  by  repenteuice  and  submission 
"  x\t  this  my  fixt  tribunal,  else  be  sure 
"  The  v/retch  shall  hourly  pace  the  lazy  wharf 
"  To  view  the  beating  of  the  Stygiau  wave^ 
'*  And  waste  his  irksome  leisure. 


d2  MEMOIRS  OF 

Ro7neo. 
Gracious  powers,  v 

Is  this  my  doom,  my  torment — ?  Heaven  is  here 
Where  Juliet  liues^  and  each  unnvorthij  thing 
I^ives  here  in  heaven  and  may  look  on  her^ 
£ut  Romeo  may  ?iot  :  more  validity^ 
More  honourable  state^  more  ivorsJii/i  lives 
In  carrion  Jiies  than  Romeo  :  they  may  seize 
On  the  white  wonder  of  my  lovers  dear  handy 
And  steal  immortal  blessings  from  her  lipSj 
But  Romeo  may  not  ;  ''  He  is  doom'd  to  bear 
"  An  age's  pain  and  sigh  in  banishment, 
^^  To  drag  a  restless  being  on  the  shore 
"  Of  gloomy  Styx,  and  weep  into  the  flood, 
•'  Till,  with  his  tears  made  full,  the  briny  sti^eam'** 
Shall  kiss  the  most  exalted  shores  of  all, 

Shakspeare, 
^*  Now  then  dost  thou  repent  thy  follies  past  ? 

Romeo, 
"  Oh,  ask  me  if  I  feel  my  torments  present, 
*'  Then  judge  if  I  repent  my  follies  past. 
"  Had  I  but  powers  to  tell  you  what  I  feel, 
"  A  tongue  to  speak  my  heart's  unfeigned  contrition^. 
^'  Then  might  I  lay  the  bleeding  part  before  you  ; 
^'  But  'twin  not  be — something  I  yet  would  say 
^'  To  extenuate  my  crime  ;  I  fdn  would  plead 
*'  The  merit  of  my  love — but  I  have  done — 
"  However  hard  my  sentence,  I  submit. 
"  My  faithless  tongue  turns  traitor  to  my  heait, 
"  And  will  not  utter  what  it  fondly  prompts  ; 
^  A  rising  gust  of  passion  drowns  my  voice, 
^*  And  I'm  most  dumb  when  I've  most  need  to  sue. 

(Kneels.) 
Shakspeare, 
^^  Arise,  young  Sir  !  before  my  mercy-seat 
"  None  kneel  in  vain  ;  repentance  never  lost 
"  The  cause  she  pleaded.     Mercy  is  the  proof, 
"  The  test  that  marks  a  character  divine  ; 
"  Were  ye  like  merciful  to  one  another, 
^'  The  earth  would  be  a  heaven  and  men  the  gods-. 
"  Withdraw  awhile  ;  I  see  thy  heart  is  full ; 
"  Grief  at  a  crime  committed  merits  more 
[\  Than  exultation  for  a  duty  done. 

(Romeo  mthdra'ws.j 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  3> 

^haksf-Lcare  reviains  andsjicakfi-^ 
^'  What  rage  is  this,  O  man,  that  thou  should' st  da.re 
^^  To  turn  unnatural  butcher  on  thyself, 
"  And  thy  presumptuous  violent  hand  uplift 
"  Against  that  fabric  which  the  gods  have  rais'd  ? 
"  Insolent  wretch,  did  that  presumptuous  hand 
"  Temper  thy  wond'rous  frame  ?  Did  that  bold  spirit 
"  Inspire  the  quicken'd  clay  with  living  breath  \ 
"  Do  not  deceive  thyself.     Have  the  kind  gods 
"  Lent  their  own  goodly  image  to  thy  use 
^'  For  thee  to  break  at  pleasure  ?— 
"  What  are  thy  merits  ?  Where  is  thy  dominion  r 
"  If  thou  aspir'st  to  rule,  rule  thy  desires. 
"  Thou  poorly  turn'stupon  thy  helpless  body, 
"  And  hast  no  heart  to  check  thy  growing  sins  : 
"  Thou  gain'st  a  mighty  victory  o'er  thy  life, 
"  But  art  enslaved  to  thy  basest  passions, 
"  And  bov/est  to  the  anarchy  within  thee. 
"  O  !  have  a  care 

"  Lest  at  thy  great  account  thou  should'st  be  found 
^'  A  thriftless  steward  of  thy  master's  substance. 
"  'Tis  his  to  take  away  or  sink  at  will, 
"  Thou  but  the  tenant  to  a  greater  lord, 
"  Nor  maker,  nor  the  monarch  of  thyself.'^ 
I  select  these  extracts,  because  what  is  wdthin  hooks  is 
of  my  own  composing,  whereas  in  the  preceding  scenes, 
where  the  characters  make  their  appeal,  I  perceive  I  had  in 
general  contrived  to  let  them  speak  the  language,  v/hich  their 
ow^n  poet  had  given  to  them.     I  presume  to  add  that  the  pas- 
sages I  have  extracted  from  their  parts,  as  they  stand  in  the 
originals  of   their   great    author,'  are  ingeniously  enough 
chosen  and  appositely  introduced  ;  I  likewise  take  the  liberty 
to  observe,  that  where  I  have  in  those  scenes  above  alluded 
to,  connected  the  extracts  with  my  own  dialogue,  consider- 
ing it  as  the  work  of  so  mere  a  novice,  it  is  not  contemptibly 
executed.     As  I  have  solemnly  disavowed  all  deception  or 
finesse  in  the  whole  conduct  of  these  memoirs,  so  in  this  in- 
stance I  have  not  sought  to  excite  surprise  by  making  my 
years  fewer,  or  my  verses  better,  than  they  strictly  and  truly 
were,  having  faithfully  attested  the  one,  and  correctly  tran- 
scribed the  other. 

My  worthy  old  master  at  Bury,  now  in  the  decline  of  life, 
Intimated  his  purpose  of  retiring,  and  my  father  took  the  op- 


34  MEMOIRS  OF 

portunity  of  transplanting  me  to  Wesminster,  vrhere  he  ad- 
mitted me  under  Doctor  Nichols,  and  lodged  me  in  the 
boarding  house,  then  kept  by  Ludford,  where  he  himself  had 
been  placed.  He  took  me  in  his  hand  to  the  master,  who 
seemed  a  good  deal  surprised  to  hear  that  I  had  passed 
through  Bury  School  at  the  age  of  twelve,  and  immediately 
put  a  Homer  before  me,  and  after  that  an  ode  in  Horace.  I 
turned  my  eyes  upon  my  father,  and  perceived  him  to  be  in 
considerable  agitation.  There  happened  to  be  no  occasion  for 
it,  as  the  passages  were  familiar  to  me,  and  my  amiable  exa- 
miner seemed  perfectly  disposed  to  approve,  cautioning  me 
however  not  to  read  in  too  declamatory  a  style,  "  which," 
said  he, "  my  boys  will  call  conceited."  It  was  highly  grati- 
fying to  me  to  hear  him  say,  that  he  had  found  the  boys  who 
came  out  of  Mr.  Kinsman's  hands,  generally  better  grounded 
in  their  business  than  those  who  came  from  other  schools. 
The  next  day  he  gave  me  a  short  examination  for  form- 
sake  at  the  table,  and  placed  me  in  the  shell.  As  I  was  then 
only  twelve  years  old,  and  small  in  stature  for  my  years,  my 
location  in  so  high  a  class  w^as  regarded  with  some  surprise. 
by  the  corps,  into  which  I  was  so  unexpectedly  enrolled. 
Doctor  Johnson,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Worcester,  was  then 
second  master  ;  Vincent  Bourne,  well  known  to  the  literary 
world  for  his  elegant  Latin  verses,  was  usher  of  the  fifth 
form,  and  Lloyd,  afterwards  second  master,  v/as  at  the  fourth. 
Cracherode,  the  iearaed  coUecter  and  munificent  benefactor 
to  the  Royal  Museum,  was  in  the  head  election,  and  at  that 
time  as  grave,  studiovis  and  reserved  as  he  was  through  life  ; 
but  correct  in  morals  and  elegant  in  manners,  not  courting  a 
promiscuous  acquaintance,  but  pleasant  to  those  who  knew 
him.  beloved  by  many  and  esteemed  by  all.  At  the  head  of 
the  town  boys  was  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon,w^hom  I  should  not 
name  as  a  boy,  for  he  was  even  then  the  courtly  and  accom- 
plished gentleman  such  as  the  world  saw  and?acknowledged 
him  to  be.  The  late  Earl  of  Bristol,  the  late  Earl  of  Buck- 
inghamshire, and  the  late  Right  Honorable  Thomas  Harley 
were  my  form-fellows,  the  present  Duke  of  Richmond,  then 
Lord  March,  Warren  Hastings,  Colman  and  Lloyd  were 
in  the  under  school,  and  what  is  a  very  extraordinary  coinci- 
dence, there  were  then  in  school  together  throe  boys,  Hin- 
chlifte,  Smith  and  Vincent,  who  afterwards  succeeded  to  be 
severally  head  masters  of  Westminster  school  and  not  by 
tue  decease  of  any  one  of  them. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  :r5 

HinchilfTe  might  well  be  called  the  child  of  fortune,  for  he 
was  born  in  penury  and  obscurity,  and  was  lifted  into  opu- 
lence and  high  station,  not  by  the  elasticity  of  his  own  genius, 
but  by  that  lucky  combination  of  opportunities,  which  merit 
has  no  share  in  making,  and  modesty  no  aptitude  to  seize. 
At  Trinity  College  I  knew  him  as  an  under-graduate  below 
my  standing  ;  in  the  revolution  of  a  few  years  I  saw  him  in 
the  station  aforetime  filled  by  my  grandfather  as  master  of 
the  college,  and  holding  with  it  the  bishoprick  of  Peter- 
borough ;  thus  doubly  dignified  with  those  preferments 
which  had  separately  rewarded  the  learned  labours  of  Cum- 
berland and  Bentley. 

Smith  laboured  longer  and  succeeded  less,  yet  he  wisely 
chose  his  time  for  relaxation  and  retirement,  whilst  he  was 
yet  unexhausted  by  his  toils,  sufficiently  aflfliuent  to  enjoy 
his  independence,  and,  with  the  consciousness  of  having  done 
his  duty,  to  consult  his  ease,  and  to  dibmiss  his  cares. 

Vincent,  whom  I  love  as  a  friend  and  honour  as  a  scholar, 
has  at  length  found  that  station  in  the  deanery  of  Westmin- 
ster, which,  whilst  it  relieves  him  from  the  drudgery  of  the 
school-master,  keeps  him  still  attached  to  the  interests  of 
the  school,  and  eminently  concerned  in  the  superintendance 
and  protection  of  it.  As  boy  and  man  he  made  his  passage 
twice  through  the  forms  of  Westminster,  rising  step  by  step 
from  the  very  last  boy  to  the  very  captain  of  the  school,  and 
again  from  the  junior  usher  through  every  gradation  to  that, 
of  second  and  ultimately  of  senior  master ;  thus,  with  the 
interval  of  four  years  only  devoted  to  his  degree  at  Cam- 
bridge^ Westminster  has  indeed  kept  possession  of  his  per- 
son, but  has  let  the  world  partake  with  her  in  the  profit  of 
his  researches.  Without  deserting  the  laborious  post,  to 
which  his  duty  fettered  him,  his  excursive  genius  led  him 
over  seas  and  countries  far  remote,  to  follow  and  develope 
tracts,  redeem  authorities  and  dig  up  evidences  long  buried 
in  the  grave  of  ages.  This  is  the  more  to  his  honour  as  his 
hours  of  study  were  never  taken  but  from  his  hours  of  relax- 
ation, and  he  stole  no  moment  from  the  instruction  of  the 
boy  to  enrich  the  understanding  of  the  man.  His  last  work, 
small  in  bulk,  but  great  in  matter,  was  an  unanswerable  de- 
fence of  public  education,  by  which,  with  an  acuteness  that 
reflects  credit  on  his  genius,  and  a  candour  tliat  does  honour 
to  his  heart,  he  demonstrates  the  advantages  of  that  system, 
which  had  so  w^ell  prospered  under  liis  care,  ai:id  generously 


36  MEMOIRS  OF 

forbears  to  avail  himself  of  those  arguments,  which  in  a  con^ 
trove rsy  with  such  an  opponent  some  men  would  have  re- 
sorted to.  Let  the  mitred  preacher  against  public  schools 
rejoice  in  silence  at  his  escape,  but  when  the  yet  un-mitrcd 
master  of  the  Temple,  indisputably  one  of  the  first  scholars 
and  finest  writers  of  his  time,  leaves  the  master  of  West- 
minster in  possession  of  the  field,  it  is  not  from  want  of  cou- 
rage, it  less  can  be  from  want  of  capacity,  to  prolong  the 
contest ;  it  can  only  be  from  the  operation  of  reason  on  a 
candid  mind,  and  a  clearer  view  of  that  system,  which  whilst 
he  was  denouncing  he  probably  did  not  recollect  that  he  w^as 
himself  most  unequivocally  patronizing  in  the  instance  of  his 
own  son.  Diversion  of  thought  I  well  know  is  not  uncom- 
mon with  him,  perversion  never  will  be  imputed  to  him. 

When  I  found  upon  coming  into  the  Shell,  that  my  sta- 
tion was  to  be  quiescent,  and  that  ail  challenging  for  places 
was  at  an  end,  I  regretted  it  as  an  opportunity  lost  for  turn- 
ing out  with  new  competitors,  so  much  my  seniors  in  age, 
and  who  seemed  to  regard  me  with  an  air  of  conscious  supe- 
riority.    I  sate  down,   however,  with  ardor  to  my  school 
business  and  also  to  my  private  studies,  and  I  soon  perceived 
,  that  I  had  now  no  discouragements  to  contend  with  in  my 
attempts  at  composition,  for  the  very  first  exercise  in  Latin 
verse,  which  I  gave  in,  gained  the  candid  approb^^tion  of  the 
master,  and  from  that  moment  I  acquired  a  degree  of  confi- 
dence in  myself,  that  gave  vigour  to  my  exertions ;  and 
though  I  bear  all  possible  respect  and  gratitude  to  the  me- 
mory of  that  kind  friend  of  my  youth,  whose  rigour  was  only  , 
the  effect  of  anxiety  for  my  weil-doing,  yet  I  cannot  look 
back  to  this  period  of  my  education  without  acknowledging 
the  advantages  I  experienced  in  being  thus  transplanted  to 
Westminster,  where  to  attempt  was  to  succeed,  and  placed 
mider  a  master,  whose  principle  it  evidently  w^as  to  cherish 
every  spark  of  genius,  which  lie  could  discover  in  his  scho- 
lars, and  who  seemed  determined  so  to  exercise  his  autho- 
rity, that  our  best  motives  for  obeying  him  should  spring 
from  the  affection,  that  we  entertained  for  him.     Arthur 
Kinsman   certainly  knew  how  to  make  his  boys  scholars  ; 
Doctor  Nichols  had  the  art  of  making  his  scholars  gentle- 
men ;  for  there  is  a  court  of  honour  in  that  school,  to  wdiose 
unwritten  laws  every  member  of  our  community  v,'as  amen- 
able, and  whicjT  to  transgress  by  any  act  of  meanness,  that 
^^xposed  the  offender  to  public  contempt,  was  o  r'r  orf-  of 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  57 

punishment,  compared  to  which  the  behig-  sentenced  to  tlie 
rod  would  have  been  considered  as  an  accjuittal  or  reprieve. 

Whilst  I  am  makint^  thift  remark  an  instance  occurs  to  me 
of  a  certain  boy  from  the  fifth,  who  was  summoned  before 
the  seniors  in  the  seventh,  and  convicted  of  an  offence,  which 
in  the  high  spirit  of  that  school  argued  an  abasement  of  prin- 
ciple and  honour  :  Doctor  Nichols  having  stated  tlie  case, 
demanded  their  opinion  of  the  crime  and  what  degree  of 
punishment  they  conceived  it  to  deserve  ;  tlicir  answer  was 
unanimously — «"  The  severest  that  could  be  inflicted."—"  1 
can  inflict  none  more  severe  than  you  have  given  him," 
said  the  master,  and  dismissed  him  without  any  other  chas- 
tisement. 

It  was  not  many  days  after  my  admission  that  I  myself 
stood  before  him  as  a  culprit,  having*  been  reported  by  the 
monitor  for  escaping  out  of  the  Abbey  during  divine  ser- 
vice, and  joining  a  party  of  my  school-fellows  for  the  unjus- 
tifiable purpose  of  intruding  ourselves  upon  a  meeting  of 
quakers  at  their  devotions.  We  had  not  been  guilty  of  any 
gross  impertinence,  but  the  offence  was  highly  i^prehensi- 
ble,  and  when  my  turn  came  to  be  called  up  to  the  master, 
1  presume  he  saw  my  contrition,  when,  turning  a  mild  look 
upon  me,  he  said  aloud — Erubuit^  salva  est  res^ — and  sent 
me  back  to  my  seat. 

Was  it  possible  not  to  love  a  chamcter  like  this  ?  Nichols 
certainly  was  a  complete  fine  gentleman  in  his  office,  and 
entitled  to  the  respect  and  affection  of  his  scholars,  who  in 
his  person  found  a  master  not  only  of  the  dead  languages, 
but  also  of  the  living  manners.  As  for  me,  who  had  expe- 
rienced his  lenity  in  the  instance  above  related,  it  cannot  be 
to  my  credit  that  I  was  destined  to  put  his  candour  once 
more  to  the  proof,  yet  so  it  was  that  in  an  idle  moment  I  was 
disingenuous  enough  to  give  in  an  exercise  in  Latin  verse, 
every  line  ofv/hich  I  had  stolen  out  of  Duport,if  I  rightly  re- 
collect. It  passed  inspection  without  discovery,  and  Doctor 
Nichols,  after  commending  me  for  the  composition,  read  my 
verses  aloud  to  the  seniors  in  the  seventh  form,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  renew  his  praises,  when  being  touched  with  re- 
morse for  the  disgraceful  trick,  by  which  I  had  imposed 
upon  him,  I  fdriy  confessed  that  I  had  pirated  every  sylla- 
ble, and  humbly  begged  his  pardon— -he  paused  a  few  mo- 
ments,  and  theii  replied — ''  Child,  I  forgive  you ;    go  to 

D 


38  MEMOIRS   OF 

^'  your  seat,  and  say  notliiiig  of  the  matter.  You  have  gain^ 
•V  ed  move  credit  ^vith  me  by  your  mgenuous  confession, 
"  than  you  could  have  got  by  your  verses,  had  they  been 
"  your  own— -"  I  must  be  allowed  to  add,  in  palliation  of 
this  disreputable  anecdote,  that  I  had  the  grace  to  make  vol- 
untary atonement  next  morning  of  an  exercise  as  tolerable 
as  my  utmost  pains  and  capacity  could  render  it.  I  gave  it 
in  uncalled  for ;  it  was  graciously  received,  and  I  took  occa- 
sion to  apprize  the  seniors  in  the  seventh,  that  I  had  repent- 
ed of  my  attempt. 

About  this  time  the  victory  of  Culloden  having  given  the 
death's-blow  to  the  rebel  cause,  the  Lords  Kilmarnock  and 
Balmerino  were  beheaded  upon  Tower  Hill.  The  elegant 
person  of  the  former,  and  the  intrepid  deportment  of  the 
latter,  when  suffering  en  the  scaffold,  drew  pity  even  from 
the  most  obdurate,  and  I  believe  it  was  at  that  time  very 
generally  lamented,  that  mercy,  the  best  attribute  of  kings, 
v/asnot,  or  could  not  be,  extended  to  embrace  their  melan- 
choly case  :  every  heart  that  felt  compassion  for  their  fate 
could  find  a  plea  for  theii'  offence  ;  amongst  us  at  school  we 
had  a  great  majority  on  the  side  of  mercy,  and  not  a  few, 
v/ho  in  the  spirit  of  those  times,  divided  in  opinion  with  their 
party.  In  the  mean  while  it  seemed  a  point  of  honour  with 
the  boys  neither  to  inflame  nor  insult  each  other's  feelings 
on  this  occasion,  and  I  must  consider  the  decorum  observed 
by  such  young  partisans  on  such  an  occasion  as  a  circum- 
stance very  iiighly  to  their  credit.  I  don't  doubt  but  respect 
•and  delicacy  towards  our  kind  and  well  beloved  master  had  a 
leading  share  in  disposing  them  to  that  orderly  and  humane 
behaviour. 

When  the  rebels  were  in  march  and  had  advanced  to  Der- 
by appearances  were  very  gloomy  ;  there  was  a  language 
held  by  some,  who  threw  off  all  reserve,  that  menaced  dan- 
ger, and  intimidated  many  of  the  best  affected.  In  the 
height  of  this  alarm,  the  honourable  Mrs.  Wentv/orthjjgrand- 
mother  of  the  late  Marquis  of  Rockingham,  fearing  that  the 
distinguished  loyalty  of  her  noble  house  might  expose  her 
to  pillage,  secured  her  papers  and  buried  her  plate,  flymg 
to  my  father's  house  for  refuge,  where  she  remained  an  in- 
mate during  the  immediate  pressure  of  the  danger  she  ap- 
prehended. Here  I  found  her  at  my  breakmg  up  from 
school,  a  fugitive  from  her  mansion  at  Harrowden,  and  re- 
siding in  the  parsonage  house  at  Stanvrick.     She  was  a  ven- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  39 

fcrable  and  excellent  lady,  and  retailed  her  friendship  fov 
iny  family  to  her  death  :  she  gave  mc  a  copy  of  the  great 
Earl  of  Strafford's  Letters  in  two  fciio  volumes,  magnifi- 
cently bound. 

This  was  the  time  for  my  good  fathc  r,  who  I  verily  think 
never  knew  fear,  to  stand  forward  ill  the  exertion  of  that: 
popularity,  which  was  almost  without  example.  He  had 
been  cons]ticuously  active  in  assembling  the  people  of  tiu^ 
neighbouring  parishes,  where  his  influence  laid,  and  per- 
suaded them  to  enroll  and  turn  out  in  the  defence  of  their 
country.  This  he  did  in  the  very  crisis  of  general  despon- 
dency and  alarm,  whilst  the  disaffected  in  a  near  neighbour- 
ing quarter,  abetted  by  a  noble  family,  vvhich  I  need  not 
name,  in  the  height  of  their  exultation  vrere  burning  him  in 
effigy,  as  a  person  most  obnoxious  to  their  principles  and 
most  hostile  to  their  cause.  In  a  shoit  time,  at  the  expense 
merely  of  the  enlisting  shilling  per  man,  he  raised  two  full 
companies  of  one  hundred  each  for  the  regiment  then  en- 
rolling under  the  command  of  the  Earl  of  Halifax,  and 
marched  them  in  person  to  Northampton,  attended  by  four 
picked  men  on  his  four  coach  horses,  where  he  was  received 
on  his  entrance  into  the  town  with  shouts  and  acclam.ations 
expressive  of  applause  so  fairly  merited.  The  P>drl  of  Hal- 
ifax, then  high  in  character  and  graceful  in  his  person,  re- 
ceived this  tribute  of  my  father's  loyalty  as  might  naturally 
be  expected,  and  as  a  mark  of  his  consideration  insisted  upor^ 
bestowing  one  of  these  companies  upon  me,  for  >vhich  I  had 
the  commission,  though  I  was  then  too  young  to  take  the 
command.  An  officer  v/as  named  with  the  approbation  cl 
my  father,  to  act  in  my  place,  and  the  regiment  set  out  on 
their  route  for  Carlisle,  then  in  the  hands  of  the  Highland- 
ers. There  many  of  them  lost  their  lives  in  the  siege,  and 
the  small  pox  made  such  cruel  havock  amongst  our  young 
peasantry,  that,  although  they  had  in  the  first  instance  been 
cheaply  raised,  the  distresses  of  their  families  brought  a  very 
considerable  and  lasting  charge  upon  the  bounty  of  my  fa- 
ther. 

'  I  remained  at  Westminster  school,  as  well  as  I  can  recol- 
lect, half  a  year  in  the  Shell,  and  one  year  in  the  sixth  form, 
and  I  cannot  reflect  upon  this  period  of  my  education  with- 
out acknowledging  the  reason  I  have  to  be  contented  with 
the  time  so  passed.  Idid  not  indeed  drink  long  and  deeply 
at  the  Helicon  of  that  distinguished  seminary,  but  I  had  a 


40  MEMOIRS  OF 

taste  of  the  spring  and  felt  the  influence  of  the  waters.  In 
point  of  composition  I  particularly  profited,  for  which  I  con- 
ceive there  is  m  thct  school  a  kind  of  taste  and  character, 
peculiar  to  itse*,  and  handed  down  perhaps  from  times  long* 
past,  which  seems  to  mark  it  out  for  a  distinction,  that  it 
may  indisputably  claim,  that  of  having  been  above  all  others 
the  most  favoured  cradle  of  the  Muses.  If  any  are  disposed 
to  question  this  asserlion,  let  therai  turn  to  the  Ir/es  and  his- 
tories of  the  poets  and  satisfy  their  doubts.  I  know  there  is 
a  tide,  that  flows  from  the  very  fountain-head  of  power,  that 
has  long  run  strongly  in  another  channekbut  the  vicinity  of 
Windsor  Castle  is  of  no  benefit  to  the  discipline  and  good  or- 
der of  Eton  School.  A  wise  father  will  no  more  estimate 
his  son's  improvemicnt  by  the  measure  of  his  boarding  house 
bills  and  pocket  money  amount,  than  a  good  soldier  will  fix 
his  preference  on  a  corps,  because  it  happens  to  figure  irii 
the  most  splendid  uniform,  and  indulge  in  the  most  voluptu- 
ous and  extravagant  mess. 

When  I  returned  to  school  I  v/as  taken  as  a  boarder  mto 
the  family  of  Edmund  Ashby,  Esquire,  elder  brother  of 
Waring,  who  had  been  married  to  my  father's  sister.  This 
gentleman  had  a  wife  and  three  daughters,  and  occupied  a 
spacious  house  in  Peter  Street,  two  doors  from  the  turning 
out  of  College  Street.  Having  been  set  aside  by  the  will  of 
his  father,  he  was  in  narrow  circumsta.nces,  and  his  style  of 
living  v/as  that  of  ceconomy  upon  the  strictest  scale.  No 
visitor  ever  entered  his  doors,  nor  did  he  ever  go  out  of  them 
in  search  of  amusement  or  society.  Temperate  in  the  ex- 
treme, placed  and  unruffled,  he  simply  vegetated  without 
occupation,  did  notliing,  and  had  nothing  to  do,  never  seem- 
ed to  trouble  himself  with  much  thinking,  or  interrupt  the 
thoughts  of  others  with  much  talking,  and  I  don't  recollect 
ever  to  have  found  him  engaged  with  a  newspaper,  or  a 
book,  so  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  favours  I  received  from 
a  ibw  Canary  birds  which  the  ladies  kept,' I  might  as  well 
have  boarded  in  the  convent  of  La  Trappe.  I  confess  my 
spirits  felt  the  gloomy  influence  of  the  sphere  I  lived  in, 
and  my  nights  wer^  particularly  long  and  heavy,  annoyed  as 
they  were  by  the  yells  and  bowlings  of  the  crewsof  the  de- 
predators, vrhich  infest  that  infamous  quarter,  and  sometimes 
even  roused  and  alarmed  us  by  their  pilfering  attacks.  In 
some  respects  however  I  was  benefited  by  my  removal  froiji 
Ludford's,  as  I  Was  no  longer  under  the  strict  confinement 


1 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  41 

of  a  boarding  house,  but  was  once  or  twice  allowed  to  go, 
under  proper  convoy,  to  the  play,  where  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  was  treated  with  the  sight  of  Garrick  in  the  cha- 
racter of  Lothario ;  Quin  played  Horatio,  Ryan  Altamont, 
Mrs.  Cibber  Calista  and  Mrs.  Pritchard  condescended  to  the 
humble  part  of  Lavinia.  I  enjoyed  a  good  view  of  the  stage 
from  the  front  row  of  the  gallery,  and  my  attention  was  ri- 
vetted  to  the  scene.  I  have  the  spectacle  even  now  as  it 
were  before  my  eyes.  Qllin  presented  himself  upon  the 
I'ising  of  the  curtain  in  a  green  velvet  coat  embroidered 
down  the  seams,  an  enormous  full-bottomed  perriwig,  rolled 
stockings  and  high-heeled  square-toed  shoes  :  with  very  lit- 
le  variation  of  cadence,  and  in  a  deep  full  tone,  accompanied 
by  a  sawing  kind  of  action,  which  had  more  of  the  senate 
tlian  of  the  stage  in  it,  he  rolled  out  his  heroics  with  an  air 
of  dignified  indifference,  that  seem.ed  to  disdain  the  plaudits 
that  were  bestowed  upon  him.  Mrs.  Cibber  in  a  key,  high- 
pitched  but  sweet  withal,  sung  or  rather  recitatived  Rowe's 
harmonious  strain,sQmething  in  the  manner  of  thelmproyisa- 
tories  ;  it  was  so  extremely  wanting  in  contrast,  that,  though 
it  did  hot  wound,  the  ear,  it  wearied  it :  when  she  had  once 
recited  two  or  three  speeches,  I  could  anticipate  the  manner 
of  every  succeeding  one  ;  it  was  like  a  long  old  legendary 
ballad  of  innumerable  stanzas,  every  one  of  which  is  sung  to 
the  same  tune,  eternally  chiming  in  the  ear  without  varia- 
tion or  relief.  Mrs.  Pritchard  was  an  actress  of  a  different 
cast,  had  more  nature,  and  of  course  more  change  of  tone, 
and  variety  both  of  action  and  expression  :  in  my  opinion 
the  comparison  was  decidedly  in  her  favour  ;  but  when  after 
long  and  eager  expectation  I  first  beheld  little  Garrick,  then ' 
young  and  light  and  aiive  in  every  muscle  and  in  every  fea- 
ture, come  bounding  on  the  stage,  and  pointing  at  the  wit- 
tol  Altamont  and  heavy-paced  Horatio— heavens  vv^hat  a 
transition  !  it  seemed  as  if  a  whole  century  had  been  stcpt 
over  in  the  transition  of  a  single  scene ;  old  things  were 
done  away,  and  a  nev/  order  at  once  brought  forwai^l  bright 
and  luminous,  and  clearly  destined  to  dispel  the  barbarisms 
and  bigotry  of  a  tasteless  age,  too  long  attached  to  the  pre- 
judices of  custom,  and  superstitiously  devoted  to  the  illusions 
of  imposing  declamation.  This  heaven-born  actor  v.^as  then 
struggling  to  emancipate  his  audience  from  the  slavery  they 
were  resigned  to,  and  though  at  times  he  Succeeded  in  throw- 
ing in  some  beams  of  nevr  born  lig-ht  upon  them,  yet  in  gene- 

D    Z 


4^  MEMOIRS  OF 

ral  they  seemed  to  love  darkness  better  than  lights  and  in  the 
dicUof^uc  of  altercation  between  Horatio  nnd  Lothario  bestow- 
ed far  the  greater  sho^  of  haiids  upon  the  master  of  the  old 
school  than  upon  the  fomider  of  the  nev>r.  I  thank  my  stars, 
my  feeiings  in  those  m.on\ents  led  me  right ;  they  were 
those  of  nature,  and  therefore  could  not  err. 

At  the  house  of  Mr.  Ashby  I  had  a  room  to  myself,  a  soli- 
tude witljin  it,  and  silence  without ;  I  had  no  plea  for  neglect- 
ing- my  studies,  for  I  had  no  avocations  to  dmw  me  ofi;  and 
no  amusements  to  resort  to,  '  I  pressed  my  privette  studies 
without  intermission,  and  having  taken  up  the  Georgicks 
for  recreation-sake,  I  beQ:an  to  entertain  myself  with  a  trans- 
lation in  blank  verse  of  Virgil's  beautiful  description  of  the 
plague  amongst  the  cattle,  beginning  at  ver3e  478  of  the 
third  book,  and  continued  to  the  end  of  the  same,  viz— - 
Hie  quondom  morbo  cc^ll  ^niseranda  coortaest 
Temfiestas — See.  8cc.  ' 

As  this  is  one  of  the  very  fev/  samples  of  my  Juvenilia^ 
which  I  have  thought  well  enough  of  to  preserve,  I  shall 
nov/  insert  it  verbatim  from  my  first  copy,  and,  without  re- 
peating former  apologies,  submit  it  unaltered  in  a  single  in- 
stance to  the  candour  of  the  reader — 

"  Here  once  from  foul  and  sickly  vapours  sprung 
^'  A  piteous  plague,  through  all  th'  autumnal  heats  . 
*^  Fatally  raging  :  not  a  beast  throughout, 
"  Savage  or  tame,  escap'd  the  general  bane. 
"  The  foodful  pasture  and  frequented  pool 
"  Lay  charg'd  with  mischief;  death  itself  assum'd 
•^  Strange  forms  of  horror,  for  when  fiery  drought 
*'  Pervasive,  coui^ing  through  the  circling  blood> 
*'  The  feeble  limbs  had  wasted,  straight  again 
*^  The  oozy  poison  work'd  its  cursed  way, 
*^  Sapping  the  solid  bones  ;  they  by  degrees 
"  Sunk  to  corruption.     Oftthe  victim  beast, 
"  As  at  the  altai^*s  sacred  foot  it  stood, 
^*  With  all  its  wreathy  honours  on  its  head, 
**  Dropt  breathless,  and  escap'd  the  tardy  blow, 
^  Or  if  its  lingering  spirit  might  chance  t' await 
"  The  priest's  death-dealing,  hand  no  flames  arise 
"  From  the  disposed  entrails  ;  there  they  lie 
**  In  thick  and  unpresaging  smoke  obscur'd. 
^  The  question'd  augur  holds  his  peace,  and  sees- 
^*-  His  divinaUon  foii'd  5  the  slaughtering  blade 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  43 

«  Scarce  quits  its  ])aly  hue,  and  the  lii^ht  sand 
**  Scarce  blushes  with  the  thin  and  meaticrc  blood. 

"  Hence  o'er  the  pasture  rich  and  pleiiteous  stalls 
"  The  tender  herd  in  fragrant  sighs  expire  ; 
<'  Fell  madness  seizes  the  domestic  dog  ; 
"  The  pursy  swine  heave  with  repeated  groans, 
"  A  rattling  cough  inflames  their  swelling  throats  : 
**  No  toils  secure,  no  palm  the  victor-horse 
*^  Availeth,  now  no  more  the  wholesome  spring 
^'  Delights,  no  longer  now  the  bnce-Iov'd  mead  ; 
*'  The  fatal  ill  prevails  ;  with  anguish  stung 
"  Raging  he  stamps,  his  ears  hang-  down  relax'd  ; 
"  Sometimes  an  intermitting  sweat  breaks  forthy 
**  Cold  ever  at  th'  approach  of  death  ;  again 
"  The  dry  and  staring  hide  grows  stiff  and  hard,. 
*^  Scorch'd  and  impasted  with  the  feverish  heat. 
"  Such  the  first  signs  of  riiin,  but  at  length 
**  When  the  accomplished  and  mature  disease 
"  With  its  collected  and  full  vigour  works, 
*'  The  red'ning  eye-balls  glow  with  baneful  fire, 
**  The  deep  and  hollow  breath  wdth  frequent  groans, 
"  Piteous  variety — !    is  sorely  mix'd, 
*'  And  long-draw^n  sighs  distend  the  labouring  sides  ; 
"  Then  forth  the  porches  of  the  nose  descends, 
**  As  from  a  conduit,  blood  defil'd  and  black, 
''  And  'twixt  the  glew'd  and  unresolved  jaws 
"  The  rough  and  clammy  tongue  sticks  fastt— .at  first 
"  With  generous  wine  they  drench'd  the  closing  throat; 
"  Sole  antidote,  worse  bane  at  last— for  then 
**  Dire  madness — such  as  the  just  Gods  to  none 
"  Save  to  the  bad  consign  I — at  the  last  pang 
"  Arose,  whereat  their  teeth  with  fatal  gripe, 
*'  like  pale  and  ghastly  executioners, 
"  Their  fair  and  sightly  limbs  all  mangled  o'er. 

*'  The  lab'ring  ox,  while  o'er  the  furrow 'd  land 
'^  He  trails  the  tardy  plough,  dow^n  drops  at  once, 
"  Forth  issues  bloody  foam,  till  the  last  groan 
"  Gives  a  long  close  to  his  labours  :  The  sad  hind 
^'  Unyokes  his  w4dow'd  and  complaiiiful  mate, 
^'  Leaving  the  blasted  and  imperfect  w^ork 
"  Where  tlie  fix'd  ploughshare  points  the  lukless  spot. 
"  The  shady  covert,  where  the  lofty  trees 
*^  Form  cool  retreat,  the  lawns,  whose  springing  herb 


44  MEMOIRS  OF 


1 


"  Yields  food  ambrosial,  the  transparent  stream, 

"  Which  o'er  the  jutting  stones  to  th'  neighb'ring  meed 

"  Takes  its  fantastic  course,  these  now  no  more 

"  Delight,  as  they  were  wont,  rather  afflict, 

"  With  him  they  cheer'd,  with  him  their  joys  expir'd, 

"  Joys  only  in  participation  dear  : 

"  Famine  instead  stares  in  his  hollow  sides, 

"  His  leaden  eye-balls,  motionless  and  fix'd, 

"  Sleep  in  their  sockets,  his  unnerved  neck 

"  Drooping  down,  death  lays  his  load  upon  him, 

"  And  bows  him  to  the  ground — ^what  now  avail 

"  His  useful  toils,  his  life  of  service  past  ? 

"  What  though  full  oft  he  tum'd  the  stubborn  glebe, 

"  It  boots  not  now — yet  have  these  never  felt 

"  The  ills  of  riot  and  intemperate  draughts, 

"  Where  the  full  goblet  crowns  the  luscious  feast : 

"  Their  only  feast  to  graze  the  springing  herb 

"  O'er  the  fresh  lawn,  or  from  the  pendant  bough 

"  To  crop  the  savoury  leaf,  from  the  clear  spring, 

"  Or  active  stream  refined  in  its  course, 

"  They  slake  their  sober  thirst,  their  sweet  repose 

**  Nor  cares  forbid,  nor  soothing  arts  invite, 

**  But  pure  digestion  breeds  and  light  repast. 

"  'Twas  then  great  Juno's  altar  ceas'd  to  smoke 
"  With  blood  of  bullocks,  and  the  votive  car 
^^  With  huge  mis-shapen  buffaloes  was  drawn 
"  To  the  high  temples.     Each  one  till'd  his  field, 
^'  Each  sow'd  his  acres  with  their  owner's  hand, 
"  Or,  bending  to  the  yoke  with  straining  neck, 
•*  Up  the  high  steep  dragg'd  the  slow  load  along. 
"  No  more  the  wolle  with  crafty  siege  infests 
**  The  nightly  fold  ;  more  pressing  cares  than  these 
*'  Engage  the  sly  contriver  and  subdue. 
"  The  fearful  deer  league  with  the  hostile  hound, 
^^  And  piy  about  the  charitable  d6or 
•'  Familiar,  unannoy'd.     The  mighty  deep 
*<  At  every  mouth  disgorg'd  the  scaly  tribe, 
"  And  on  the  naked  shore  expos'dto  view 
"  The  various  wreck :  the  farthest  rivers  felt   [shapes. 
*^  The  vast  discharge  and  swarm'd  v/ith  monstrous 
"  In  vain  the  viper  builds  his  mazy  cell  ; 
'^  Death  follows  him  through  all  his  wiles  :  in  vain 
''  The  snake  involves  him  deep  beneath  the  flood,     " 
^^  Wond'ring  he  starts,  erects  his  scales  and  dies. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  45 

"  The  birds  themselves  confess  the  tainted  air, 
"  Drop  while  on  wing,  and  as  they  sour  expire. 
*^  Nought  now  avails  the  pasture  fresh  and  new  ; 
"  Each  art  applied  turns  opposite  ;  e'en  they, 
"  Sage  Chiron,  sage  Mekimpus,  they  despair, 
"  Whilst  pide  Tisiphone,  come  fresh  from  hell, 
"  Driving  before  her  Pestilence  and  Fear, 
"  Her  ministers  of  vengeance  to  fulfil 
"  Pier  dread  commission,  rages  all  abroad, 
*^  And  lifts  herself  on  ruin  day  by  day 
"  More  and  more  high.     The  hollow  banks  resound, 
"  The  wiiij^ling  streams  and  hanging  hills  repeat 
"  Loud  groans  from  ev'ry  herd,  from  ev'ry  fold 
"  Complaintive  murmers  ;  heaps  on  heaps  they  fall, 
''  There  where  they  fall  they  lie,  corrupt  and  rot 
"  Within  the  lothsome  stalls,  fiii'd  and  dam'd  up 
"  With  impure  carcases,  till  they  perform 
"  The  necessary  office  and  confine 
"  Deep  under  ground  the  foul  offensive  stench  : 
"  For  neither  might  Vou  dress  the  putrid  hide 
"  Nor  could  the  purifying  stream. remove, 
"  The  vigorous  all-subduing  flame  expel 
"  The  close  incorporate  poison  :  none  essay'd 
"  To  shear  the  tainted  fleece,  or  bind  the  wool, 
"  For  who  e'er  dar'd  to  clothe  his  desp'rate  limbs 
'^  With  that  Nessean  garment,  a  foul  sweat, 
"  A  vile  and  lep'rous  tetter  barked  about 
"  All  his  smooth  body^  Nor  long  he  endur'd, 
"  But  in  the  sacred  fire  consum'd  and  died." 
A  great  and  heavy  aflfiiiction  now  befel  my  parents  and  my- 
self.    A  short  time  before  my  holidays  in  autumn  my  father 
and  mother  earner  to  town,  and  brought  my  eldest  sister  Jo- 
anna with.them,  a  very  lovely  girl,  then  in  her  seventeenth 
year.     She  caught  the  small-pox,  and  died  in  the  house  of 
the  Reverend  Doctor  Cutts  Barton,  Rector  of  St.  Andrew's, 
Holborn,  who  kindly  permitted  my  futher  to  remove  thither, 
when  she  sickened  with  that  cruel  disease.     She  was  truly 
most  engaging  in  her  person,  and  though  much  admired, 
her  manners  were  extremely  modest,  and  her  tem^per  mild 
and  gentle.     When  I  first  visited  her  after  the  symptoms  of 
the  disease  were  upon  her,  she  told  me  she  was  persuaded 
she  had  caught  tiie  small-pox,  and  that  it  would  be  fatal  to  her. 
,  Her  augury  was  too  tiiue  \  it  w^is  confluent;  and  assistance 


46  MEMOIRS  OF 

was  in  vain  ;  the  regimen  then  followed  was  exactly  contra- 
ry to  the  present  improved  method  of  treating  that  disease, 
which,  when  it  had  kept  her  in  torments  for  eleven  days, 
having  effectually  destroyed  her  beauty,  finally  put  an  end 
to  her  life.  My  father,  who  tenderly  loved  her,  submitted 
to  the  affiicting  dispensation  in  silent  sadness,  never  venting 
a  complaint ;  my  mother's  sorrows  were  not  under  such  con- 
trouL  and  as  to  me,  devoted  to  her  as  I  had  been  from  my 
cradle,  the  shock  appeared  to  threaten  me  with  such  con- 
sequences, that  my  father  resolved  upon  taking  me  out  of 
town  immediately,  and  we  went  down  to  our  abode  at  Stan- 
wick,  a  sad  and  melancholy  party,  while  Mr.  Ashby,  my 
father's  nephew,  staid  in  town  and  attended  the  body  of  his 
lamented  cousin  to  the  grave.  My  surviving  sisters,  Eliza- 
beth and  Mary,  the  elder  of  whom  was  six  years  younger 
than  myself,  had  been  left  in  the  country  ;  the  attentions, 
which  these  young  creatures  had  a  claim  to,  the  consolatory 
visits  of  our  friends,  and  the  healing  hand  of  time  by  degrees 
assuaged  the  keenness  of  affliction,  and  patient  resignation 
did  the  rest. 

The  alarm  which  my  father  had  been  vinder  on  account  of 
my  health  upon  my  sister's  death,  and  the  abhorrence  he  had 
conceived  of  London  since  that  unfoitunate  event,  deter- 
mined him  against  my  return  to  Westminster,  and  though 
another  year,  which  my  early  age  might  well  have  dispen- 
sed with,  was  recommended  by  Doctor  Nichols,  and  would 
miost  probably  have  been  so  employed  with  advantage  to  my 
education,  yet  the  measure  was  taken,  and,  though  only  in 
my  fourteenth  year,  I  was  admitted  of  Trinity  College  in 
Cambridge.  There  were  yet  some  months  of  the  vacation 
unexpired,  and  that  I  might  pass  this  time  at  home  with  the 
more  advantage,  my  father  prevailed  upon  a  neighbouring 
clergyman,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Thomas  Strong,  to  reside 
with  us  and  assist  me  in  my  studies.  A  better  man  I  never 
knew,  a  brighter  scholar  might  easily  have  been  found,  yet 
we  read  together  some  few  hours  in  every  day,  and  those 
readings  were  almost  entirely  confined  to  the  Greek  Testa- 
ment :  there  I  had  a  teacher  in  Mr.  Strong  well  worthy  of 
my  best  attention,  for  none  could  better  recommend  by  prac- 
tice what  he  illustrated  by  precept,  than  this  exemplary 
young  man.  He  sometime  after  married  very  happily,  and 
resided  on  his  living  of  Hargrave  in  our  neighborhood.uni- 
versally  respected,  and  I  trust  it  is  not  amongst  my  sins  of 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  4r 

omission  ever  after  to  have  forgotten  his  services,  or  failed 
in  niy  attention  to  him. 

When  the  time  came  for  me  to  commence  my  residence 
in  College,  my  father  accompanied  mc  and  put  me  under 
the  care  of  the  Reverend  Doctor  Morgan,  an  old  friend  of 
our  family,  and  a  senior  fellow  of  that  society.  My  rooms 
were  closely  adjoining  to  his,  belonging  to  that  staircase 
which  leads  to  the  chapel  bell ;  he  w  as  kind  to  me  when  we 
met,  but  as  tutor  I  had  few  communications  v/ilh  him,  for 
the  gout  afforded  him  not  many  intervals  of  ease,  and  with 
the  exceptions  of  a  few  trifling  readings  in  Tully's  Offices, 
by  which  I  was  little  edified,  and  to  which  I  paid  little  or  no 
attention,  he  left  me  and  one  other  pupil,  my  friend  and  in- 
timate, Mr.  William  Rudd  of  Durham,  to  choose  and  per- 
use cur  studies,  as  we  saw  fit.  This  dereliction  of  us  was 
inexcusable,  for  Rudd  was  a  youth  of  fine  talents  and  a  wcli 
grounded  scholar.  In  the  course  of  no  long  timxC,  however, 
Doctor  Morgan  left  College,  and  went  to  reside  upon  his 
living  of  Gainford,  in  the  bishoprick  of  Durham,  and  I  v/as 
turned  over  to  the  Reverend  Doctor  Philip  Young,  professor 
of  oratory  in  the  University,  and  afterwards  Bishop  of  Nor- 
wich ;  what  Morgan  made  a  very  light  concern,  Young 
made  an  absolute  sinecure,  for  from  him  I  never  received  a 
single  lecture,  and  I  hope  his  lordship's  conscience  was  not 
much  disturbed  on  my  account,  for,  though  he  gave  me  free 
leave  to  be  idle,  I  did  not  make  idleness  my  choice. 

In  the  last  year  of  my  being  under-graduate,  when  I  com- 
menced Soph,  in  the  very  first  act  that  was  given  out  to  be 
kept  in  the  mathematical  schools,  I  was  appointed  to  an  op- 
ponency,  when  at  that  time  I  had  not  read  a  single  proposi- 
tion in  Euclid  ;  I  had  now  been  just  turned  over  to  Mr.  Back- 
liouse,  the  Westminster  tutor,  who  gave  regular  lectures, 
and  fulfilled  the  duties  of  his  charge,  ably  and  conscientiously. 
Totally  unprepared  to  answer  the  call  now  made  upon  me, 
and  acquit  myself  in  the  schools,  I  resorted  to  him  in  my  dis- 
tress, and  through  his  interference  my  name  was  withdrawn 
from  the  act  ;  in  the  mean  time  I  was  sent  for  by  the  master 
Doctor  Smith,  the  learned  author  of  the  well  knov/n  Trea* 
tisesupon  Optics  and  Harmonies,  and  the  worthy  successor 
to  my  grandfather  Bentiey,  v/ho  strongly  reprobated  the 
neglect  of  my  former  tutors,  and  recommended  me  to  lose 
no  more  time  in  preparing  myself  for  my  degree,  but  to 
apply  closely  to  my  cicadeniical  studies  for  the  remainder  ^jf 
the  year,  which  I  assured  him  I  would  do. 


48  MEMOIRS  OF 

As  I  did  not  belong  to  Mr.  Backhouse  till  I  had  commen- 
ced Soph,  but  nomiiiully  to  those,  who  left  me  by  myself, 
I  had  hitherto  pursued  those  studies'that  were  familiar  to  me, 
and  indulged  my  passion  for  the  classicvS,  with  an  ardor  that 
rarely  knew  any  intermission  or  relief,  I  certainly  did  not 
wantonly  misuse  my  time,  nor  yield  to  any  even  of  the  slight- 
est excesses,  that  youth  is  prone  to  :  I  never  frequented  any 
tavern,  neither  gave  nor  received  entertainments,  nor  par- 
took in  any  parties  of  pleasure,  except  now  and  then  in  a 
ride  to  the  hills,  so  that  I  thank  God  I  have  not  to  reproach 
myself  with  any  instances  of  misconduct  towards  a  generous 
father,  who  at  this  tender  age  committed  me  to  my  ov/n  dis- 
cretion and  confided  in  me.  I  look  back  therefore  upon 
this  period  of  my  liie  with  a  tranquil  conscience  ;  I  even 
dwell  upon  it  with  peculiar  delight,  for  witnin  those  mater- 
nal walls  I  passed  years  given  up  to  study  and  those  intellect- 
ual pure  enjoyments,  winch  ieuve  no  self  reproach,  whilst 
with  the  works  of  my  ancestors  in  my  hands,  and  the  im- 
pression of  their  examples  on  my  heart,  I  flattered  myself 
in  the  belief  that  I  v/as  pressing  forward  ardently  and  suc- 
cessfully to  follow  them  in  tlieir  profession,  and  peradven- 
ture  not  fall  far  behind  them  in  their  fame. 

This  was  the  great  aim  and  object  of  my  ambition  :  for 
this  I  laboured,  to  this  point  I  looked,  and  all  my  world  was 
centered  in  my  college.  Every  scene  brought  to  my  mind 
the  pleasing  recollection  of  times  past,  and  hlled  it  Vvith  the 
animating  hope  of  times  to  come :  as  my  college  duties  and 
attendances  were  occupations  that  I  took  pleasure  in,  punct- 
uality and  obedience  did  not  put  me  to  the  trouble  of  an 
effort,  for  when  to  be  employed  is  our  amussment,  there  is 
no  self-denial  in  not  being  idle.  If  I  had  then  had  a  tutor, 
who  would  have  systematized  and  arranged  my  studies,  it 
vrould  have  been  happy  for  me  ;  but  I  had  no  such  director, 
and  Avith  my  books  before  me,  (poets,  historians  cind  philo- 
sophers) sate  down  as  it  were  to  cana  dubia^  with  an  eager, 
rather  than  a  discriminating,  appetite  ;  I  am  now  speaking 
of  my  course  of  reading  from  my  admission  to  my  com- 
mencing Soph,  v/hen  I  was  called  off  to  my  academical  stu- 
dies. In  that  period  my  stock  of  books  was  but  slender,  till 
Doctor  Richard  Bentley  had  the  goodness  to  give  me  a  val- 
uable parcel  of  my  grandfather's  books  and  papers,  contain- 
ing his  correspondence  with  many  of  the  foreign  literati  upon 
^■^ints  of  criiicij:>mj  some  letters  from  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  a 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  49 

pretty  large  body  of  notes  for  an  edition  of  Lucan's  Pharsa- 
lia,  which  I  gave  to  my  uncle  Bentley,  and  were  published 
under  his  inspection  by  Dodsley,  at  Mr.  Waipolc's  press, 
vdth  sundry  other  manuscripts,  and  a  considerable  number 
of  Greek  and  Latin  books,  mostly  collated  by  him,  and  their 
margins  filled  with  alterations  and  corrections  in  his  own 
hand,  neatly  and  legibly  written  in  a  very  small  character. 
The  possession  of  these  books  was  most  gratifying  k,  accept- 
able to  me  ;  some  few  of  them  were  extremely  rare,  and  in 
the  history  I  have  given  in  T/ie  Odseroei^  of  the  Greek  Wri- 
ters, niore  particularly  of  the  Comic  Poets  now  lost, -I  have 
availed  myself  of  them,  and  I  am  vain  enough  to  believe  no 
such  collection  of  the  scattered  extracts,  anecdotes  and  re- 
miains  of  those  dramatists  is  any  where  else  to  be  found. 
The  doner  of  these  books  was  the  nephew  of  my  grandfa- 
ther, and  inherited  by  will  the  v/hole  of  his  library,  which 
at  his  death  was  sold  by  auction  in  Leicestershire,  where  he 
pesided  in  his  latter  years  on  his  rectory  of  Nail-stone  :  he 
was  himself  no  inconsiderable  collector?  and  it  is  much  to 
be  regretted  that  his  executors  took  this  method  of  dispo- 
sing of  his  books,  by  which  they  became  dispersed  in  small 
lots  amongst  many  country  purchasers,  who  probably  did 
not  know  their  value.  He  was  an  accurate  collator,  and  for 
his  judgment  in  editions  much  resorted  to  by  Doctor  Mead, 
with  wdiom  he  lived  in  great  intimacy,  ikudng  the  time 
that  he  resided  in  college,  for  he  was  one  of  the  senior 
fellows  of  Trinity,  he  gave  me  every  possible  proof,  not 
only  in  this  instance  of  his  donation,  but  in  many  others^ 
of  his  favour  and  protection. 

At  the  same  time  Doctor  Richard  Walker,  the  friend  of 
my  grandfather,  and  vice-master  of  the  college,  never  fail- 
ed to  distinguish  me  by  every  kindness  in  his  pov/er.  He 
frequently  invited  me  to  his  rooms,  which  I  had  so  oft^n 
visited  as  a  child,  and  which  had  the  further  merit  with  me 
as  having  been  the  residence  of  Sir  Isaac  Nev/ton,  every 
relick  of  w^liose  studies  and  experiments  were  respectfully 
preserved  to  the  minutest  particular,  and  pointed  out  to  me 
by  the  good  old  vice-master  with  the  m.ost  circumstantial 
precision.  He  had  many  little  anecdotes  of  my  grandfatherj 
wJiiich  to  me  at  least  were  interesting,  and  an  old  servant  De- 
borah, whom  he  made  a  kind  of  companion ,,and  vrho  was 
mtich  in  request  for  the  many  entertaining  circumstances 
^'Ik  could  narrate  of  Sii^  Isaac  Newton,  when  she  waited  upon 


50  MEMOIRS  OF 

him  as  his  bedmakcr,  and  also  of  Doctor  Bentley,  with  whom 
she  lived  for  several  years  after  Sir  Isaac  left  College,  and 
at  the  death  of  my  grandfather  was  passed  over  to  Doctor 
Walker,  in  whose  service  she  died. 

My  mind  in  these  happy  days  was  so  ti*anqiiil,  and  my 
time  passed  in  so  uniform  a  tenor  of  study  and  retirement, 
that  though  it  is  a  period  pleasing  to  me  to  reflect  upon,  yet 
it  furnishes  little  that  is  worthy  to  be  recorded.  I  believe  I 
hardly  ever  employed  myself  upon  English  composition, 
except  on  the  event  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's  death,  when 
amongst  others  I  sent  in  my  contribution  of  elegiac  verses 
to  the  university  volume,  and  very  indifferent  ones  they 
were.  To  my  Latin  declamations  I  paid  my  best  attention, 
for  these  were  recited  publicly  in  the  chapel  after  evening 
prayers  on  Saturdays,  when  it  was  open  to  all,  who  chose  to 
resort  thither,  and  we  were  generally  flattered  by  pretty 
full  audiences. 

The  year  of  trial  now  commenced,  for  which,  through  the 
neglect  of  my  tutors,  I  was,  as  an  academical  student,  totally 
unprepared.  Determined  to  use  every  effort  in  my  power 
for  redeeming  my  lost  time,  I  began  a  course  of  study  so 
apportioned  as  to  allow  myself  but  six  hours  sleep,  to  which 
I  strictly  adhered,  living  almost  entirely  upon  milk,  and 
using  the  cold  bath  very  frequently.  As  I  was  then  only 
seventeen  years  old,  and  of  a  frame  by  no  means  robust, 
many  of  my  friends  remonstrated  against  the  severity  of 
this  regimen,  and  recommended  more  moderation,  but  the 
cncouragment  I  met  in  the  rapidity  of  my  progress  through 
all  the  dry  and  elementary  parts  of  my  studies,  determined 
me  to  persist  with  ardour,  and  made  me  deaf  to  their  advice. 
In  the  several  branches  of  the  mechanics,  hydrostatics, 
optics  and  astronomy,  I  consulted  the  best  treatises,  and 
made  m.yself  master  of  them  ;  I  worked  all  propositions, 
formed  all  my  minutes,  and  even  my  thoughts,  in  Latin, 
whereby  I  acquired  a  facility  of  expounding,  solving  and 
arguing  in  that  language,  in  which  I  may  presume  to  say  I 
had  advantages,  which  some  of  the  best  of  my  contempom- 
ries  in  our  public  disputations  were  but  too  sensible  of,  for 
so  long  as  my  knowledge  of  a  question  could  supply  matter 
for  argument,  I  never  felt  any  want  of  tenns  for  explar  a- 
tion. 

When  I  found  myself  prepared  to  take  my  part  in  the  pub- 
lic schools,  I  thirsted  for  the  opportunity,  which  I  no  longer 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  51 

dreadecl/rmd  with  this  my  ambition  was  soon  gratificd^bdn^ 
appointed  to  keeii  an  act^  and  three  respectable  opponents 
singled  out  against  me,  the  first  of  which  was  looked  up  to 
as  the  best  of  the  year.  When  his  name  was  given  out  for 
disputation  the  schools  never  failed  to  be  crowded,  and  as  I 
had  drawn  my  questions  from  Newton' s  Principia,  I  gave 
him  fair  scope  for  the  display  of  his  superiority,  and  was  by 
all  considered,  (for  his  fame  was  universal)  as  a  mere  child 
in  his  hands,  justly  to  be  punished  for  my  temerity,  and 
self-devoted  to  complete  confutation.  I  was  not  oldy  a  mere 
novice  in  the  schools  but  also  a  perfect  stranger  to  the  gen- 
tlemen opposed  tome;  when  therefore  mounted  on  a  bass 
in  the  rostrum,  which  even  then  I  could  scarcely  overtop,  I 
contemplated,  in  the  person  of  my  antagonist,  a  North- 
country  blaok-bearded  philosopher,  who  at  an  advanced  age 
had  admitted  at  St.  John's  to  qualify  for  holy  orders,  (even 
at  that  time  a  finished  mathematician  and  a  private  lecturer 
in  those  studies,)  I  did  not  wonder  that  the  contrast  of  a 
beardless  boy,  pale  and  emaciated  as  I  w^as  then  become, 
seemed  to  attract  every  body's  curiosity  ;  for  after  I  had 
concluded  my  thesis,  which  precedes  the  disputation,  when 
he  ascended  his  seat  under  the  rostrum  of  the  Moderator— 

With  grave 

jisfiect  he  rose^  and  in  his  rising  seemed 

A  pillar  of  strength — deefi  in  his  front  engraven 

Deliberation  sate — sage  he  stood 

With  Atlantean  shoulders  fit  to  bear 

The  weight  of  mightiest  argument 
Formidable  as  he  appeared,  I  did  not  feel  my  spirits  sink, 
for  I  had  taken  a  very  careful  survey  of  the  ground  I  was 
upon,  and  thought  myself  prepared  against  any  attack  he 
could  devise  against  me.  I  also  saw  that  all  advantages,  re- 
sulting from  the  unequal  terms  on  which  we  engaged,  were 
on  my  side  ;  I  might  obtain  glory  from  him,  and  he  covild 
but  little  profit  by  his  triumph  over  me.  My  heart  was  in 
my  cause,  and  proudly  measuring  its  importance  by  the 
crowd  it  had  collected,  armed,  as  I  believed  myself  to  be,  in 
the  full  understanding  of  my  questions,  and  a  perfect  readi- 
ness in  the  language,  in  which  our  disputations  wxre  to  be 
carried  on,  I  waited  his  attack  amidst  the  hum  and  murmur 
of  the  assembly.  His  argument  was  purely  mathematical, 
and  so  enveloped  in  the  terms  of  his  art,  as  made  it  some- 
what difficult  for  me  to  discover  wliere  his  syllogism  pointed 


52  MEMOIRS^  OF 

without  those  aids  and  delineations,  which  our  process  did 
not  allow  of ;  I  availed  myself  of  my  privilege  to  call  for  a 
repetition  of  it,  when  at  once  I  caught  the  fallacy  and  pursu- 
ed it  with  advantage,  keeping  the  clue  firm  in  hand  till  I 
completely  traced  him  through  all  the  windings  of  his  laby- 
rinth. The  same  success  attended  me  through  the  remain- 
iilg  seven  arguments,  which  fell  off  in  strength  and  subtlety, 
and  his  defence  became  sullen  and  morose,  his  latinity  very 
harsh,  inelegant  and  embarrassed,^  till  I  saw  him  descend 
with  no  very  pleasant  countenance,  whilst  it  appeared  evi- 
dent to  me  that  my  whole  audience  were  not  displeased  with 
the  unexpected  turn,  which  our  controversy  had  taken.  He 
oup;ht  in  course  to  have  been  succeeded  by  a  second  and 
third  opponent,  but  our  disputation  had  already  been  pro- 
longed beyond  the  time  commonly  allotted,  and  the  schools 
were  broken  up  by  the  Moderator  with  a  compliment  ad- 
dressed to  me  in  terms  much  out  of  the  usual  course  on 
such  occasions. 

If  it  is  allowable  for  me  to  speak  of  such  trifling ^  events 
circumstantially  and  with  the  importance,  which  at  that  time 
I  attached  to  them,  when  I  knew  nothing  of  this  great  world 
beyond  the  walls  of  my  college,  I  hope  this  passage  will  be 
read  with  candour,  and  that  I  shall  be  pardoned  for  a  long 
tale  told  in  my  old  age  of  the  first  triumph  of  my  youth, 
earned  by  extreme  hard  labour,  and  gained  at  the  risque  and 
hazard  of  my  health  by  a  persevera.nce  in  so  severe  a  course 
of  study,  as  brought  me  ultimately  to  the  very  brink  of  the 
grave. 

Four  times  I  went  through  these  scholastic  exercises  in 
the  course  of  the  year,  keeping  two  acts  and  as  many  first 
opponencies.  In  one  of  the  latter,  where  I  was  pitched 
tigainst  an  ingenious  student  of  my  own  college,  I  contrived 
to  form  certain  arguments,  which  by  a  scale  of  deductions 
so  artfully  drawn,  and  involving  consequences,  which  by 
mathematical  gradations  (the  premises  being  once  granted) 
led  to  such  unforeseen  confutation,  that  even  my  tutor  Mr. 
Backhouse,  to  v/hom  I  previously  imparted  them,  v/as  effec- 
tually trapped  and  could  as  little  parry  them,  as  the  gentle- 
man, who  kept  the  act,  or  the  Moderator,  who  filled  the 
chair. 

The  4ast  time  I  was  called  upon  to  keep  an  act  in  the 
schools,  I  sent  in  three  questions  to  the  Moderator,  which 
he  understood  as  all  mathematical,  and  required  me  to  con- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  53 

foitn  to  the  usage  of  proposing  one  metaphysical  question  in 
the  place  of  that,  which  I  should  think  fit  to  withdraw.  This 
was  i^round  I  never  liked  to  take,  and  I  appealed  against  his 
requisition  :  the  act  was  accordingly  put  by  till  the  matter 
of  right  should  be  ascertained  by  the  statutes  of  the  univer- 
sity, and  in  the  result  of  that  inquiry  it  was  given  for  me, 
and  my  questions  stood.  This  litigation  between  the  Mo- 
derator and  an  Under-graduate,  whose  interest  in  the  distri- 
bution of  honors,  at  the  ensuing  degree,  laid  so  much  at  the 
mercy  of  his  report,  made  a  considerable  stir  and  gave  rise 
to  much  conversation  ;  so  that  when  this  long  suspended  act 
took  place,  not  only  the  floor  of  the  schools  v/as  filled  with 
the  juniors,  but  many  of  high  standing  in  the  university  as- 
sembled in  the  gallery.  The  Moderator  had  nominated  the 
same  gentleman  as  my  first  opponent,  who  no  doubt  felt 
every  motive  to  renew  the  contest,  and  bring  me  to  a  proper 
iSense  of  my  presumption.  The  term  was  now  drawing  near 
to  its  close,  and  I  began  to  feel  very  sensibly  the  effects  of 
my  too  intense  application,  my  whole  frame  being  debilitate 
ed  in  a  manner,  that  warned  me  I  had  not  long  to  continue 
my  course  of  labour  without  the  interruption  of  some  seri- 
ous attack  ;  I  had  in  fact  the  seeds  of  a  rheumatic  fever  lurk- 
ing in  my  constitution,  and  was  led  between  two  of  my 
friends  and  fellow  collegians  to  the  schools  in  a  very  feeble 
state.  I  was,  however,  intellectually  alive  to  all  the  purpo- 
ses of  the  business  we  were  upon,  and  when  I  observed  that 
the  Moderator  exhibited  symptoms  of  indisposition  by  rest- 
ing his  head  upon  the  cushion  on  his  desk,  I  cut  short  my 
thesis  to  make  way  for  my  opponent,  who  had  hardly  brought 
his  argument  to  bear,  when  the  Moderator,  on  the  plea  of 
sudden  indisposition,  dismissed  me  with  a  speech,  which^ 
though  tinctured  with  some  petulance,  had  more  of  praise 
in  it  than  I  expected  to  receive. 

I  yielded  now  to  advice,  and  paid  attention  to  my  healthy 
till  we  were  cited  to  the  senate  house  to  be  examined  for  our 
Bachelor's  degree.  It  was  hardly  ever  my  lot  during  that 
examination  to  enjoy  any  respite.  I  seemed  an  object  sin- 
gled out  as  every  man^s  mark,  and  was  kept  perpetually  at 
the  table  under  the  process  of  question  and  answer.  My 
constitution  just  held  me  up  to  the  expiration  of  the  scru- 
tiny, and  I  immediately  hastened  ta my  ov/n  home  to  alarm 
my  parents  with  my  ghastly  looks,  and  soon  fell  ill  of  a  rheu-^ 
matic  ftver,  which  for  the  space  of  six  mgntha  kept  me  hav- 

£    2 


54  MEMOIRS  OF 

erin(v  between  life  and  death.  The  skill  of  my  physician, 
the  afm-ementioned  Doctor  Wallis  of  Stamford,  and  the  ten- 
d<?r  attention  of  the  dear  friends  about  me,  rescued  me  at 
length,  and  I  recovered  under  their  care.  Whilst  I  was  in 
this  state  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  Cambridge  of 
the  high  station,  which  had  been  adjudged  to  me  amongst 
The  Wranglers  of  my  year,  and  I  further  understood  how 
much  1  was  indebted  to  the  generous  support  of  that  very 
Moderator,  whom  I  had  thwarted  in  the  matter  of  my  ques* 
tions,  for  this  adjudication  so  much  in  my  favour  and  per- 
haps above  my  mertis,  for  my  knowledge  had  been  hastily 
attained :  a  conduct  so  candid  on  the  part  of  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Ray,  (fellow  of  Corpus  Christi,  and  the  Moderator  of 
whom  I  have  been  speaking)  was  ever  remembered  by  me 
with  gratitude  and  respect :  Mr.  Ray  was  afterwards  domes- 
tic chaplain  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  when  I 
v/as  resident  in  town,  I  waited  upon  him  at  Lambeth  palace, 
to  express  my  sensibility  of  the  very  liberal  manner  in 
Y/hich  he  had  protected  mte. 

I  novr"  found  myself  in  a  station  of  ease  and  credit  in  my 
native  college,  to  which  I  was  attached  by  every  tie,  that 
could  endear  it  to  me.  I  had  changed  my  Under-graduatx's 
gown,  and  obtained  my  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  with 
lionours  hardly  ieamed  by  pains  the  more  severe  because  so 
long  postponed  :  and  nov/  if  I  have  been  seemingly. too  ela- 
borate in  tracing  my  own  particular  progress  through  these 
exercises,  to  which  the  candidate  for  a  degree  at  Cambridge 
must  of  necessity  conform,  it  is  not  merely  because  I  can 
quote  my  privilege  for  my  excuse,  but  because  I  would 
most  earnestly  impress  upon  the  attention  of  my  reader  the 
extreme  usefulness  of  these  academical  exercises  and  tKe 
studies  appertaining  to  them,  by  which  I  consider  all  the 
purposes  of  an  university  education  are  completed  ;  and  so 
convinced  am  I  of  this,  that  I  can  hardly  allow  myself  to  call 
that  an  education,  of  which  they  do  not  make  a  part ;  if 
therefore  I  am  to  speak  for  the  discipline  of  the  schools,, 
ought  I  not  first  to  show  that  I  am  speaking  from  experi- 
ence, without  which  opinions  pass  for  nothing  ?  Having 
therefore  first  demonstrated  what  miy  experience  of  that 
discipline  has  been,  I  have  the  authority  of  that,  a.s  far  as  it 
goes,  for  an  opinion  in  its  favour,  which  every  observation 
of  my  life  has  since  contributed  to  est?vblish  and  confirm » 
What  more  can  any  system  of  education  hold  out  to  tiiOse>. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  55 

who  are  the  objects  of  it,  than  public  honours  to  distinguish 
merit,  public  exercises  to  awaken  emulation,  and  public  ex- 
aminations, which  cannot  be  passed  without  extorting  some 
exertion  even  from  the  indolent,  nor  can  be  avoided  without 
a  marked  disj^race  to  the  a^mfiounder  ?  Now  if  I  have  any 
knowledge  of  tiiC  world,  any  insight  into  the  minds  and 
characters  of  those,  whom  I  have  had  opportunities  of  know- 
ing, (and  few  have  lived  more  and  longer  amongst  mankind) 
all  my  observations  tend  to  convince  me  that  there  is  no 
profession,  no  art,  no  station  or  concHtion  in  life,  to  which 
the  studies  I  have  been  speaking  of  will  not  apply  and  come 
in  aid  with  profit  and  advantage.  That  niode  of  investiga- 
tion step  by  step,  which  crowns  the  process  of  the  student 
by  the  demonstration  and  discovery  of  positive  and  mathe- 
matical truth,  so  exercise  and  train  him  in  the  habits  of  fol- 
lowing up  his  subject,  be  it  what  it  may,  and  working  out 
his  proofs,  as  cannot  fail  to  find  their  uses,  v/hether  he, 
who  has  them,  dictates  from  the  pulpit,  argues  at  the  bar, 
or  declaims  in  the  senate  ;  nay,  there  is  no  lot,  no  station, 
(I  repeat  it  with  confidence)  be  it  either  social  or  sequester- 
ed, conspicuous  or  obscure,  professional  or  idly  indepen- 
dent, in  w^hich  the  man,  once  exercised  in  these  studies, 
though  he  shall  afterwards  neglect  them,  will  not  to  his  com- 
iort  experience  some  mental  powers  and  resources,  in 
which  their  influence  shall  be  felt,  though  the  channels,  that 
conducted  it,  may  from  disuse  have  become  obscure,  and 
no  longer  to  be  traced. 

Hear  the  crude  opinions,  that  are  let  loose  upon  society 
in  our  table  conversations  ;  mark  the  wild  and  w^andering  ar- 
guments, that  are  launched  at  random  without  ever  hitting 
the  mark  they  should  be  levelled  at ;  wiiat  does  ail  this  noise 
and  nonsense  prove,  but  that  the  talker  has  acquired  the  flu- 
ency of  words,  but  never  known  the  exercise  of  thought,  or 
attended  to  the  developement  of  a  single  proposition  ?  Tell 
him  that  he  ought  to  hear  what  may  be  sai<.l  on  the  other 
side  of  the  question — he  agrees  to  it,  and  either  begs  leave 
to  wind  up  with  a  few  words  more,  which  he  winds  and  wire- 
draws without  end  ;  or  having  paused  to  hear,  hears  with 
impatience  a  very  little,  foreknows  every  thing  you  had  fur- 
ther to  say,  cuts  short  your  argument  and  bolts  in  upon  you 
■ — ^»vith  an  answer  to  that  argument — I  No  ;  with  a  continua- 
tion of  his  own  gabble,  and,  having  stifled  you  with  the  tor- 
rent of  his  trash,  places  your  contempt  to  the  credit  of  his- 


5fi  MEMOIRS  OF 

own  capacity,  and  foolishly  conceives  he  talks  with  reason 
because  he  has  not  patience  to  attend  to  any  reasoning  but 
his  own. 

What  are  all  the  quirks  and  quibbles,  that  skirmishers  in 
controversy  catch  hold  of  to  escape  the  point  of  any  argu- 
ment, when  pressed  upon  them  ?  If  a  laugh,  a  jeer,  a  hit 
of  mimickry,  or  buffoonery  cannot  parry  the  attack,  they 
find  themselves  disarmed  of  the  only  weapons  they  can  wield, 
and  then,  though  truth  should  stare  them  in  the  face,  they 
will  affect  not  to  see  it  :  instead  of  receiving  conviction  as 
the  acquirement  of  something,  which  they  had  not  them- 
selves, and  have  gained  from  you,  they  regard  it  as  an  in- 
sult to  their  understandmgs,  and  grow  sullen  and  resentTul ; 
they  will  then  tell  you  they  shall  leave  you  to  your  own  opin- 
ions, they  shall  say  no  more,  and  with  an  air  of  importance 
wrap  themselves  up  in  a  kind  of  coutemptuous  indifference^ 
when  their  reason  for  saying  nothing  is  only  because  they 
have  nothing  more  to  say.  How  many  of  this  cast  of  char- 
acter are  to  be  met  with  in  the  world  every  man  of  the  world 
can  witness. 

There  are  also  others,  v/hose  vivacity  of  imagination  hav- 
ing never  felt  the  trammels  of  a  syllogism  is  for  ever  flying 
off  into  digression  and  display — 

Quo  teneam  nodo  mutantem  Proteaformas  ? 

To  attempt  at  hedging  m  these  cuckows  is  but  lost  labour. 
These  gentlemen  are  very  entertaining  as  long  as  novelties 
with  no  meaning  can  entertain  you  ;  they  have  a  great  vari- 
ety of  opinions,  which,  if  you  oppose,  they  do  not  defend,  and 
if  you  agree  with,  they  desert.  Their  talk  is  like  the  wild 
notes  of  birds',  amongst  which  you  shall  distinguish  some  of 
pleasant  tone,  but  out  of  which  you  compose  no  tune  or  har- 
mony of  song.  These  men  would  have  set  down  Archime- 
des for  a  fool  when  he  danced  for  joy  at  the  solution  of  a 
proposition,  and  mistaken  Newton  for  a  madman,  when  in 
the  surplice,  which  he  put  on  for  chapel  over  night,  he 
was  found  the  next  morning  in  the  same  place  and  pos- 
ture fixed  in  profound  meditation  on  his  theory  of  the 
prismatic  colours.  So  great  is  their  distaste  for  demonstra- 
tion, they  think  no  truth  is  worth  tlie  waitmg  for  ;.  the  moun- 
tain must  come  to  them,  they  are  not  by  half  so  complai- 
sant as  Mahomet.  They  are  not  easily  reconciled  to  tru- 
isms, but  have  no  particular  objection  to  impossibilities 
For  argument  they  have  no  ear  ;  it  does  not  touch  them  \  \\ 


I 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  S7 

fetters  fancy,  and  dulls  the  edge  ofrepartee  ;  if  by  chance  they 
find  themselves  in  an  untenable  position,  and  wit  is  not  at  hand 
to  help  them  out  of  it,  they  will  take  up  with  a  pun,  and 
ride  home  upon  a  horse  laugh  :  if  they  can't  keep  their 
ground,  they  won't  wait  to  be  attacked  or  driven  out  of  it. 
Whilst  a  reasoning  man  will  be  picking  his  way  out  of  a  di- 
lemma, they,  who  never  reason  at  all,  jump  over  it,  and 
land  themselves  at  once  upon  new  ground,  where  they  take 
an  imposing  attitude,  and  escape  persuit.  Whatever  these 
va^n  do,  whether  they  talk,  or  write,  or  act,  it  is  without 
deliberation,  without  consistency,  without  plan.  Having 
no  expanse  of  mind,  they  can  comprehend  only  in  part ; 
they  will  promise  an  epic  poem,  and  produce  an  epigram  : 
In  short,  they  glitter,  pass  away  and  are  forgotten;  their 
outset  makes  a  show  of  mighty  things,  they  stray  out  of 
their  course  into  bye-ways  and  obliquities,  and  when  out  of 
sight  of  their  contemporaries,  are  forever  lost  to  posterity. 

When  characters  of  this  sort  come  under  our  observation 
it  is  easy  to  discover  that  tlieir  levities  and  frivolities  have 
their  source  in  the  errors  and  defects  of  education,  for  it  is 
evident  they  have  not  been  trained  in  any  principles  of  right- 
reasoning.  Therefore  it  is  that  I  hold  in  such  esteem  the 
academical  studies  pursued  at  Cambridge,  and  regard  their 
exercises  in  tiie  mathematical  schools,  and  their  examina- 
tions in  the  tiieatre,  as  forming  the  best  system,  which  this 
country  offers,  for  the  education  of  its  youth.  Persuaded  as 
I  am  of  this,  I  must  confess  I  have  ever  considered  tlic  elec- 
tion of  scholars  from  the  college  of  Eton  to  that  of  King's  in 
Cambridge,  as  a  bar  greatly  in  their  disfc^vour,  forasmuch  as 
by  the  constitution  of  tliat  college  they  are  not  subjected  to 
the  same  process  for  attaining  their  degrees,  and  of  course 
the  study  otthe  mathematics  makes  no  part  of  their  system, 
but  is  merely  optional.  I  leave  this  remark  to  those,  who 
may  think  it  worthy  of  their  consideration.  Under-gradu- 
ates  of  Trinity  College,  whether  elected  from  Westminster 
or  not,  have  no  such  exemptions. 

'  Having  now,  at  an  age  more  than  commonly  early,  ob- 
iained  my  Bachelor's  degree,  with  the  return  of  health  I  re- 
sumed my  studies,  and  v/ithout  neglecting  those  I  had  so 
lately  been  engaged  in,  again  took  up  those  authors,  who 
had  lain  by  untouched  for  a  whole  tv/eivcmonth.  I  suppos- 
ed my  line  in  life  was  decided  for  the  church,  the  profession 
of  my  ai)cestorsj  and  in  the  course  of  three  years  I  had 


58  MEMOIRS  OF 

good  reason  to  expect  a  fellowship  with  the  degree  of  Mas- 
ter of  Arts.  These  views,  so  suited  to  my  natural  disposi- 
tion, were  now  before  me,  and  I  dv/eit  upon  them  with  entire 
content. 

Having  now  been  in  the  habit  of  reading  ^pon  system,  I 
resolved  to  put  m.y  thoughts  together  upon  paper,  and  be- 
gan to  form  a  kind  of  Collectanta  of  my  studies.  With  this 
view  I  got  together  all  the  tracts  relative  to  the  controversy 
between  Boyle  and  Bentley,  omitting  none  even  of  the  au- 
thorities and  passages  they  referred  to,  and  having  done  this, 
I  compressed  the  reasonings  on  both  sides  into  a  kind  of  a 
statemxcnt  and  report  upon  the  question  in  dispute,  and  if 
in  the  result  my  judgment  went  with  him,  to  whom  my  in- 
clination leant,  no  learned  critic  of  the  present  age  will  con- 
demn me  for  the  decision. 

When  I  had  accomplished  this,  I  meditated  on  a  plan  lit- 
tle short  of  what  might  be  projected  for  an  Universal  His- 
tory, or  at  least  for  that  of  the  Great  Empires  in  particular. 
For  this  purpose  I  began  with  studying  the  Sanchoniatho  of 
Bishop  Cumberland,  contrasting  the  Phoenician  and  Egyp- 
tian Cosmogonies  with  that  of  Moses,  by  which  I  found  my- 
self at  length  involved  in  references  to  so  many  authors, 
which  I  had  no  means  of  consulting,  and  so  hampered  by 
Oriental  languages,  which  I  did  not  understand,  that  after 
filling  a  large  folio  foul-book,  which  I  still  keep  in  possession^ 
I  gave  up  the  task,  or  more  properly  speaking  reduced  it  to 
a  more  contracted  scale,  in  which,  however,  I  contrived  to 
review  all  the  several  systems  of  the  Heathen  Philosophers, 
and  discuss  at  large  the  tenets  and  opinions  maintained  and 
professed  by  their  respective  schools  and  academies.  This 
was  a  work  of  labour  and  considerable  research,  and  having 
had  lately  occasion  to  resort  to  it  for  certain  purposes,  which 
I  have  in  hand,  I  must  do  myself  the  justice  to  say,  I  found 
it  very  accui^te,  and  derived  all  the  aid  and  information  from 
it  that  I  expected  or  required.  That  I  was  at  that  age  dis- 
posed and  able  to  apply  my  mind  to  a  work  so  operose  and 
argumentative  I  ascribe  entirely  to  the  nature  of  the  stu- 
dies, and  the  habitudes  of  thinking,  I  had  so  recently  been 
engaged  in. 

Thus,  after  wandering  at  large  for  a  considerable  time 
without  any  one  to  guide  me,  I  was  at  last  compelled  to 
chalk  out  for  myself  a  settled  plan  of  reading,  which,  if  I  had 
not  been  disciplined  as  above  described,  I  certainly  should 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  5f 

have  long  postponed,  or  perhaps  never  have  struck  out. 
Why  will  not  those,  whose  duty  it  is  to  superintend  the 
education  of  their  pupils  in  our  universities,  when  they  dis- 
cover talents  and  a  thirst  for  learning,  point  out  to  the  stu- 
dent the  best  and  nearest  road  to  its  attainment  ?  It  is  surely 
within  their  province  to  do  it,  and  the  benefit  would  be  in- 
calculable. 

I  well  remember  when  I  was  newly  come  to  college,  with 
,what  avidity  I  read  the  Greek  tragedians,  and  with  what  re- 
verence I  swallowed  the  absurdities  of  their  chorus,  and  was 
bigoted  to  their  cold  character  and  rigid  unities  ;  and  when 
Mason  of  Pembroke-Hall  published  his  Elfrida  after  theiF 
model,  though  I  did  not  quite  agree  with  him  as  to  his  choice 
of  plot,  or  the  perfect  legitimacy  of  his  chorus,  yet  I  was 
warm  in  my  praises  of  that  generally-admired  production, 
and  in  imitation  of  it  planned  and  composed  an  entire  drama, 
of  which  Charactacus  was  the  hero,  with  I^ards  and  Druids 
attached  to  it  as  a  chorus,  for  whom  I  wrote  Odes  in  the 
manner  of  Elfrida  ;  I  have  this  manuscript  now  in  my  pos- 
session, and  it  is  flattering  to  my  choice  of  subject  that  Ma- 
son, with  whom  I  had  no  communication  or  correspondence, 
should  afterwards  strike  upon  the  same  character  for  the 
hero  of  his  drama :  but  though  in  this  particular  I  have  the 
good  chance  to  agree  with  him,  in  point  of  plot  I  strayed 
equally  from  him  and  from  the  history,  for  not  writing  with 
any  thoughtof  publication,  I  wove  into  my  drama  some  cha- 
racters and  several  incidents  perfectly  fictitious  :  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  fancy  and  some  strong  writing  in  it,  but  as  a 
whole  it  must  be  read  with  allowances,  and  I  shall  therefore 
pass  it  over,  not  wishing  to  make  too  many  demands  upon 
the  candour  of  the  reader. 

Whilst  I  was  thus  living  with  my  family  at  Stanwick  in 
the  enjoyment  of  every  thing  that  could  constitute  my  feli- 
city, a  strong  contest  took  place  upon  the  approach  of  the 
general  election,  and  the  county  of  Northampton  was  hotly 
canvassed  by  the  rival  parties  of  Knightly  and  Hanbury,  or 
m  other  words  by  the  Tories  and  tlie  Whigs.  My  father, 
whose  politics  accorded  with  the  latter,  w^as  drawn  out  upon 
this  occasion,  and  gave  a  very  active  and  effectual  support 
to  his  party,  and  though  the  cause  he  embarked  in  was  un- 
successful, yet  his  particular  exertions  had  been  such,  that 
he  might  truly  have  said — 

Si  Pergama  dextra 
Defcndi  fiOB^enty  ctiam  hac  dcfensi  fuissait , 


60  MEMOIRS  OF 

This  second  striking  instance  of  his  popularity  and  influ- 
ence was  by  no  means  Overlooked  by  the  Earl  of  Halifax, 
then  high  in  office  and  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  county.  Of- 
fers, which  he  did  not  court,  were  pressed  upon  him,  but 
though  he^was  resolute  in  declining  all  favours  personal  to 
himself,  yet  he  was  persuaded  to  lend  an  ear  to  flattering^ 
situations  pointed  out  for  me,  and  my  destiny  was  now  pre-, 
paring  to  reverse  those  tranquil  and  delectable  scenes,  which 
I  had  hitherto  enjoyed,  and  to  transplant  me  from  the  clois- 
ters of  my  college,  and  free  range  of  my  studies,  to  the 
desk  of  a  private  secretary,  and  the  irksome  painful  restraints 
of  dependeaicc. 

Let  me  not  by  my  statement  of  this  event  appear  to  lay. 
any  thing  to  the  charge  of  my  ever  dear  and  honored  father  ; 
if  I  were  unnaturally  disposed  to  find  a  fault  in  his  proceed- 
ing upon  this  occasion,  I  must  search  for  it  amongst  his 
virtues  ;  he  was  open,  warm  and  unsuspecting  ;  apt  to  credit 
others  for  what  was  natural  to  himself,  ever  inclined  to  look 
only  on  the  best  side  of  men  and  things^  and  certainly  not 
one  of  the  children  of  this  world.  If  I  have  cause  to  regret 
this  departure  from  the  line,  in  which  by  education  I  had 
been  trained,  I  am  the  author  of  my  own  misfortune  ;  I  was 
perfectly  a  free  agent,  and  have  nobody  but  myself  to  accuse. 
My  youth,  however,  and  the  still  unsettled  state  of  my 
health  spared  me  for  a  time,  and  my  father  proposed  an  ex- 
cursion to  the  city  of  York,  for  the  double  purpose  of  my  re- 
laxation and  my  sisters'  accomplishments  in  music  and  dan- 
cing. .  We  had  a  r.ear  relation  living  there,  a  widow  lady, 
niece  to  Doctor  Bentley,  who  accommodated  us  with  her 
house,  and  we  passed  half  a  year  in  the  society  and  amuse- 
ments of  the  place.  This  lady,  Foster  by  name,  and  first 
cousin  to  my  mother,  was  a  woman  of  superior  understand- 
ing ;  her  opinions  were  pronounced  authoritatively  and  with- 
out respect  of  person  ;  they  were  considered  in  York  as 
little  less  than  oracular.  The  style  of  living  in  this  place 
was  so  new  to  me  and  out  of  character,  when  contrasted  by 
the  habits  of  study  and  retirement,  v/hicli  I  had  been  accus- 
tomed to,  that  it  seemed  to  enfeeble  and  depress  that  portion 
of  genius,  which  nature  had  endowed  me  with  ;  I  hunted  in 
the  mornings,  danced  in  the  evenings,  and  devoted  but  a 
small  portion  of  my  time  to  any  tiling  that  deserved  the 
name  of  study.  I  had  no  books  of  my  own,  and  unfortu- 
nately got  engaged  with  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen^  in  imitation 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND .  61 

of  which  I  began  to  string  nonsensical  stanzas  to  the  same 
rhiming  kind  of  measure.  Though  I  trust  I  should  not  have 
surrendered  myself  for  any  length  of  time  to  this  jingling 
strain  of  obsolete  versification,  yet  I  am  indebted  to  my  mo- 
ther for  the  seasonable  contempt  she  threw  upon  my  imita- 
tions, felt  the  force  of  her  ixproof,  and  laid  the  Fairy  Queen 
upon  its  shelf. 

The  Earl  of  Galloway,  father  of  the  present  Lord,  was 
then  residing  at  York  with  his  family  ;  a  beautiful  copy  of 
elegiac  verses,  the  composition  of  his  daughter,  Lady  Susan, 
was  communicated  to  me,  of  which  the  hint  seemed  to  be 
taken  from  Hamlet's  meditations  on  the  skull  of  Yorick.  I 
do  not  feel  myself  at  liberty  to  publish  the  elegant  poem  of 
that  lady,  who  lived  to  grace  the  high  station  which  by  her 
birth,  virtues  and  endov/ments  she  was  entitled  to,  and  when 
I  now  venture  to  insert  my  own,  I  am  fully  conscious  how 
ill  it  would  endure  a  comparison  with  that  which  gave  occa- 
sion to  it — 

"  True  !  \\  e  must  all  be  chang'd  by  death, 
"  Such  is  the  form  the  dead  must  wear, 
"  And  so,  when  Beauty  yields  its  breath, 
*'  So  shall  the  fairest  face  appear. 

^'  But  let  thy  soul  survey  the  grace, 
"   That  yet  adorns  its  frail  abode, 
"  And  through  the  wondrous  fabric  trace 
*'  The  hand  of  an  unerring  God. 

*'  Why  does  the  blood  in  stated  round 

*^  Its  vital  warmth  throughout  dispense  I 

"  Who  tun'd  the  ear  to  every  sound, 

<'  And  lent  the  hand  its  ready  sense  ? 

"  Whence  had  the  eyes  that  subtle  force, 
"  That  languor,  they  by  turns  display  ? 
*'^  Who  hung  the  lips  with  prompt  discourse, 
"  And  tun'd  the  soft  melodious  lay  ? 

"  What  but  thy  Maker's  image  there 
"  In  each  external  part  is  seen  ? 
"  But  'tis  thy  better  part  to  wear 
^^  His  image  pictur'd  best  within. 

F 


62  MEMOIRS  OF 

''  Else  what  avail'd  the  mptur'd  strain, 

"  Did  not  the  mind  heraidimpait, 

•  "  The  melting  eye  would  spqak  in  vahi, 

"  Fkiw'd  not  its  language  from  the  heart* 

"  The  blood  with  stated  pace  had  crept 

"  Along  the  dull  and  sluggish  veins, 

"  The  ear  insensibly  had  slept, 

"  Though  angels  sung  in  choicest  strauis. 

"  It  is  that  spark  of  quick'ning  fire, 
"  To  ev'ry  child  of  nature  giv'n, 
"  That  either  kindles  wild  desire, 
'*  Or  lights  us  on  the  road  to  heav'n. 

^*  That  spark,  if  Virtue  keeps  it  bright, 
^'  And  Genius  fans  it  into  flame, 
^'  Aspiring  mounts,  and  in  its  flight, 
''  Soars  far  above  this  earthly  frame. 

**  Strong  and  expansive  in  its  view, 
^*  It  tow'rs  amid  the  boundless  sky, 
*'  Sees  planets  other  orbs  pursue, 
*^  Whose  systems  other  suns  supply. 

*^  Such  Newton  was,  diffusing  far 

*^  Hisjradiant  beams ;  such  Cotes  had  been  ; 

"  This  a  bright  comet ;  that  a  star, 

"  Which  glitter 'd  and  no  more  was  seen. 

<^  Blush  then  if  thou  hast  sense  of  shame, 
"  Inglorious,  ign'rant,  impious  slave  ! 
"  Who  think'st  this  heav'n-created  frame 
^'  Shallbasely  perish  in  the  grave. 

<*  False  as  thou  art,  dar'st  thou  suggest 
"  That  thy  Creator  is  unjust  ? 
"  Villi  thou  the  truth  with  him  contest, 
"  Whose  M'isdom  form'd  thee  of  the  dust? 

"  Say,  dotard,  hath  He  idly  wrought, 
"  Or  are  his  works  to  be  belie v'd  ? 
"  Speak,  is  the  whole  creation  nought  ? 
'•'  Mortal,  is  God  or  thou  deceiv'd  ? 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  63 

.*^  Thy  hardcn'cl  spirit,  convict  at  last, 
"  Its  damning  error  shall  perceive, 
"  Speechless  shall  hear  its  sentence  past, 
"  Condemned  to  tremble  and  believe. 

'^  But  thou  in  reason's  sober  light 

"  Death  clad  with  terror  can'st  survey, 

"  And  from  the  foul  and  ghastly  sight 

"  Derive  the  pure  and  moral  lay. 

"  Go  on,  sweet  Nymph,  and  when  thy  Muse 
"  Visits  the  dark  and  dreary  tomb, 
"  Bright-rob'd  Religion  shall  diffuse 
"  Her  radiance,  and  dispel  the  gloom. 

"  And  when  the  necessary  day 

"  Shall  call  thee  to  thy  saving  God, 

"  Secure  thou'it  chuse  that  better  way, 

"  Which  conscience  points  and  Saints  have  trod. 

"  So  shall  thy  soul  at  length  forsake 

"  The  fairest  form  e'er  soul  receiv'd 

"  Of  those  rich  blessings  to  partake, 

"  Which  eye  ne'er  saw,  nor  heart  conceiv'd. 

"  There,  'midst  the  full  angelic  throng, 
"  Praise  Him,  who  those  rich  blessings  gave, 
"  There  shall  resume  the  grateful  song, 
"  A  joyful  victor  o'er  the  grave." 

This  excurp.ion  to  York  was  indeed  a  relaxation,  but  not 
altogether  of  a  sort,  that  either  suited  my  ease,  or  accorded 
with  my  taste.  Certain  it  is  I  had  for  a  time  impaired  my 
health  by  too  much  application  and  the  over-abstemious 
habits  I  imposed  upon  myself  during  my  last  year  at  college, 
but  tranquillity  not  dissipation,  or  what  is  called  amusement, 
was  the  restorative  I  most  needed.  The  allurements  of 
public  assemblies  and  the  society  of  those,  who  resort  to 
therp,  form  so  great  a  contrast  to  the  occupations  of  a  stu- 
dent, that  instead  of  being  enlivened  by  the  change,  I  felt  a 
lassitude  of  mind,  that  put  me  out  of  humour  with  myself, 
and  damped  that  ardent  spirit  of  acvquirement,  which  in  my 
natui'e  seemed  to  have  been  its  ruling  passion.     Extrem.es 


64  MEMOIRS  OF 

of  any  sort  are  dangerous  to  youthful  minds,  and  should  be 
studiously  avoided.  The  termination  of  our  visit  to  York, 
and  the  prospect  of  returning  to  college  were  welcomed 
by  me  most  cordially.  I  had  brought  no  books  v/ith  me  to 
York,  and  of  course  had  nothing  to  call  otFmy  mind  from  the 
listless  idle  style,  in  which  I  dangled  away  my  time,  amus- 
ing myself  only  now  and  then  with  my  pen,  because  my 
fancy  would  not  be  totally  unemployed  ;  sometimes,  as  I 
have  before  related,  imitating  Spenser's  style,  and  at  other 
times  composing  short  elegies  after  the  manner  of  Ham- 
mond ;  for  this,  when  I  was  reprimanded  by  the  same  judi- 
cious monitress,  who  rallied  me  out  of  my  imitations  of  the 
stanzas  of  The  Fairy  Queen,  I  promised  her  I  w^ould  write 
no  more  love  elegies,  and  took  leave  of  Hammond  with  the 
following  lines,  written  almost  extempore — < 

'^  V/hen  vnse  men  love  they  love  to  folly, 

''  When  blockheads  love  they're  melancholy, 

"  When  coxcombs  love,  they  love  for  fashion, 

"  And  quaintly  call  it  the  belle  passion. 

'*  Old  batchelors,  who  wear  the  willow, 

''  May  dream  of  love  and  hug  the  pillow, 

"  Whilst  love,  in  poet's  fancy  rhyming, 

"  Sets  all  the  bells  of  folly  chiming. 

^'  But  j\vomen,  charming  women,  prove 
"  The*^ sweet  varieties  of  love, 
^^  They  can  love  all,  but  none  too  dearly, 
"  Their  husbands  too,  but  not  sincerely. 

^'  They'll  love  a  thing,  whose  outward  shape 
"  Makes  him  twin  brother  to  an  ape  ; 
"  They'll  take  a  miser  for  his  riches, 
,     "  And  wed  a  beggar  without  breeches* 

"  Marry,  as  if  in  love  with  rum, 

^'  A  gamester  to  their  sure  undoing, 

"  A  drunkard  raving,  swearing,  stormmgj 

*'  For  the  dear  pleasure  of  reforming. 

"  They'll  wed  a  lord,  whose  breath  shall  falter 
"  Whilst  he  is  crawling  from  the  altar  : 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  6^ 

^^  What  is  there  women  will  not  do, 
"  When  they  love  man  and  money  too 


?*^ 


These  and  numerous  trifles  of  the  like  soil,  not  worth 
recording,  amused  my  vacant  hours  at  York,  but  when  I 
returned  home,  I  made  a  very  short  stay,  and  hastened 
to.,colle|^e,  where  I  was  soon  invited  to  the  master's  lodg-e 
by  Doctor  Smith,  who  was  pleased  to  honour  me  v/ith  his 
approbation  of  my  past  exertions,  and  imparted  to  me  a 
new  arrangement,  that  he  and  the  seniors  had  determined 
upon  for  annulling  so  much  of  the  existing  statues  as  re- 
stricted all  Bachelors  of  Arts,  except  those  t)f  the  third 
year's  standing,  from  offering  themselves  candidates  for  . 
fellowships  :  when  he  had  signified  this  to  me,  he  kindiy 
added,  that  as  I  should  be  in  the  second  year  of  my  degree 
at  the  next  election,  he  recommended  it  to  me  by  all  means 
to  present  myself  for  examination,  and  to  take  ray  chance. 
This  was  a  commrinication  so  flattering,  that  I  knew  not 
how  to  shape  the  answer,  which  he  seemed  to  expect  from- 
me  ;  I  clearly  saw  that  his  meaning  was  to  bring  me  into 
the  society  a  year  before  any  one  had  been  elected  since  the 
statutes  were  in  existence  ;  I  knew  that  by  my  election 
there  must  be  an  exclusion  of  some  candidate  of  the  year 
a-bovc  me,  who  had  only  a  single  chance,  whereas  I  had  a 
double  one  ;  in  the  mean  time  my  circumstances  were  such 
as  did  not  want  the  em.oluments  of  a  fellowship,  and  my  age 
such  as  might  well  admit  of  a  postponement.  These  v»^ere 
my  reflections  at  the  time,  and  I  felt  the  force  of  them,  but 
the  regulation  was  gone  forth,  and  there  were  others  of  my 
own  year,  who  had  announced  their  resolution  of  corning  for- 
ward as  candidates  at  the  time  of  the  election.  There  was 
no  part  therefore  for  me  to  take  but  to  prepare  myself  for 
the  exammation,  and  expect  the  result.  To  this  I  looked 
fonvard  with  much  more  terror  and  alarm,  than  to  ail  I  had 
experienced  in  the  schools  and  theatre,  for  I  not  only  stood 
in  awe  of  the  master  of  Trinity,  as  being  tlie  deepest  mathe- 
matician of  his  time,  but  as  I  hi^d  reason  to  believe  he  had 
been  led  to  lay  open  the  election  in  some  degree  on  my  ac- 
count, I  apprehended  he  would  never  suHcr  his  partiality 
to  single  me  out  to  the  exclusion  of  any  other  v»7it])out  strict 
scrutiny  into  my  pretensions,  and  as  I  had  obtained  a  higk 
honour  when  I  took  my  degree,  I  greatly  feared  he  miglit 
expect  too  niuchj  aiid  m.eet  with  disappointment-  ^ 


6a  MEMOIRS  OF 

Under  these  impressions,  whilst  I  was  preparing  to  resume 
my  fitudies  Avith  increased  attention,  and  repair  the  time  not 
proMtably  past  of  late,  I  received  a  summons,  which  open- 
ed to  me  a  new  scene  of  life.  I  was  called  for  by  Lord  Ha- 
lifax to  assmne  the  situation  of  his  private  confidential  se- 
cretary :  it  was  considered  by  my  family  and  the  friends  and 
advisers  of  my  family,  as  an  offer,  upon  which  there  eould  be 
no  hesitation.  They  took  the  question  as  it  struck  them  in 
their  view  of  it,  they  could  not  look  into  futurity,  neither 
could  they  take  a  perfect  estimate  either  of  my  fitness  for  the 
situation  held  out  to  me,  or  of  the  eventual  value  of  the  situr 
ation,  from  wnich  I  was  about  to  be  displaced.  What  the 
prosecution  of  my  studies  mighl  have  led  me  to  in  that  line 
of  life,  to  which  I  had  directed  my  attention,  and  fixed  my 
attachment,  is  a  matter  of  speculation  and  conjecture  ;  what 
I  might  have  avoided  is  now  become  matter  of  experience, 
and  I  can  only  say  that  had  certain  passages  of  my  past  life 
been  then  stated  to  me  as  probabilities  to  .occur,  I  would  have 
stuck  to  my  college,  and  endeavoured  to  have  trodden  in  the 
steps  of  my  ancestors. 

I  v/as  not  fitted  for  dependence :  my  nature  was  re- 
pugnant to  it ;  I  was  most  unfortunately  formed  with  feel- 
ings, that  could  ill  endure  the  assumed  importance  of  some, 
or  submit  to  take  advantage  of  the  weakuess  of  others.  I 
had  ambition  enough,  and  it  maybe  more  than  enough  ;  but 
it  was  the  ambition  of  working  out  my  own  way  by  the  la- 
bours of  my  mind,  and  raising  to  myself  a  character  upon 
a  foundation  of  my  own  laying.  I  certainly  do  not  offend 
against  truth  when  I  say  I  had  an  ardent  wish  to  earn  a  name 
in  literature  :  I  had  studied  books  ;  I  had  not  studied  men, 
and  perha,psl  was  too  much  disposed  to  measure  my  respect 
for  their  characters  by  the  standard  of  their  talents.  I  had 
no  acquaintance  with  the  noble  Lord,  who  now  invited  me 
to  share  his  confidence,  and  receive  my  destiny  from  his 
}\ands.  My  good  father  did  what  was  perfectly  natural  for  a 
fither  todo  in  the  like  circumstances,  he  availed  himself  of 
tlie  opportunity  for  placing  me  under  the  patronage  of  one 
of  the  most  figuring  and  rising  men  of  his  time.  There 
was  something  extremely  briiiiant  and  more  than  commonly 
eiigaging  in  the  person,  manners  and  address  of  the  Eai^l  of 
Halifax.  He  had  been  educated  at  Eton,  and  came  with  the 
reputation  of  a  good  scholar  to  Trinity  College,  where  he 
estabiished  himself  in  the  good  opinion  of  the  v»^hoIc  society. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  er 

not  only  by  his  orderly  and  regular  conduct,  but  in  a  very 
distinguished  manner  by  the  attention  which  he  paid  to  his 
studies,  and  the  proofs  he  gave  in  his  public  exercises  of 
his  classical  acquirements.  Pie  was  certainly  when  compar- 
ed with  men  of  his  condition,  to  be  distinguished  as  a  schol- 
ar much  above  the  common  mark  :  he  quoted  well  and  co- 
piously from  the  best  authors,  chiefly  Horace  ;  he  was  very 
fond  of  English  poetry,  and  recited  it  very  emphatically  af- 
ter the  manner  of  Quin,  who  had  been  his  master  in  that 
art  :  he'  had  a  partiality  for  Prior,  which  he  seemed  to  inher- 
it from  the  celebrated  lord  Halifax,  and  would  rehearse  long 
passages  from  his  Solomon,  and  Henry  and  Emma,  with  the 
whole  of  his  verses,  beginning  with  Sincere  oh  tell  me — and 
these  he  would  set  off  with  a  great  display  of  action,  and  in  a 
style  of  declamation  more  than  sufficiently  theatrical.  He  was 
married  to  a  virtuous  and  exemplary  lady,  who  brought  him 
a  considerable  fortune,  and  from  whom  he  took  the  name  of 
Dunk,  and  was  made  a  freeman  of  London  to  entitle  him  to 
mary  in  conformity  to  the  conditions  of  her  father's  will. 
His  family,  when  I  came  to  him,  consisted  of  this  lady,  with 
whom  he  lived  in  great  domestic  harmony,  and  three  daugh- 
ters; there  was  an  elderly  clergyman  of  the  name  of  Crane, 
an  inmate  also,  who  had  been  his  tutor,  and  to  whom  he  was 
most  entirely  attached.  A  better  guide  and  a  more  faithful 
counsellor  he  could  not  have,  for  amongst  all  the  men  it  has 
been  my  chance  to  know,I  do  not  think  I  have  known  a  calm- 
er, wiser,  more  right-headed  man ;  in  the  ways  of  the 
world,  the  politics  of  the  time  and  the  characters  of  those, 
who  were  in  the  public  management  and  responsibility  of 
affairs.  Doctor  Crane  was  incomparably  the  best  steersman, 
that  his  pupil  could  take  his  course  from,  and  so  long  as  he 
submitted  to  his  temperate  guidance  he  could  hardly  go 
astray.  The  opinions  of  Doctor  Crane  were  upon  all  points 
decisive,  because  in  the  first  place  they  were  always  withheld 
till  extorted  from  him  by  appeal,  and  secondly,  because  they 
never  failed  to  carry  home  conviction  of  the  prudence  and 
sound  judgment  tliey  were  founded  upon. 

This  was  the  state  of  the  family  to  which  I  was  now  intro- 
duced. In  the  lord  of  the  house  I  contemplated  a  man  re- 
gular in  his  duties,  temperate  in  his  habits,  and  a  strict  ob- 
server of  decorum  :  in  the  lady  a  woman,  in  whom  no  fault 
or  even  foible  could  be  discovered,  miid,  prudent,  unpretend- 
ing ;  in  a  tutor  a  character  not  easy  to  deveiope?  or  rightly  and 


68  MEMOIRS  OF 

correctly  to  appreciate,  for  whilst  his  qualities  commanded 
respect,  the  dryness  of  his  external  repulsed  familiarity  ;  in 
short  I  sat  him  down  as  a  man  of  a  clear  head  and  a  cold  heart: 
the  daughters  were  children  of  the  nursery. 

I  went  to  town  attended  by  a  steady  intelligent  servant  of 
my  father's ;  this  person,  Anthony  Fletcher  by  name,  who 
then  wore  a  livery,  has  since,  by  a  series  of  good  conduct  and 
good  fortune,  established  himself  in  an  aliduent  and  creditable 
situation  at  Bath,  where  he  still  lives  in  a  very  advanced  age 
in  the  Crescent,  well  known  and  universally  respected.  Lord 
Halifax's  house  tvas  in  Grosvenor-Square,  but  I  found  lodg- 
ings taken  for  me  by  his  order  in  Downing-street,  for  the 
purpose,  as  I  understood,  of  my  being  near  Mr.  John  Pow- 
nall,  then  acting  secretary  to  the  Board  of  Trade,  at  which  it 
was  Lord  Halifax's  office  to  preside.  This  gentleman  was 
to  give  me  the  necessary  instructions  for  my  obtaining  some 
insight  into  the  nature  of  the  business,  likely  to  devolve  upon 
me.  My  location  was  certainly  very  well  pitched  for  those 
communications,  for  Mr.  Po^vnall  lodged  and  boarded  at  a 
house  in  the  same  street,  and  with  him  I  was  to  mess  when 
not  invited  out. 

The  morning  after  my  arrival  I  waited  on  this  gentleman 
at  his  office  in  Whitehall,  and  was  received  by  him  with  all 
possible  politeness,  but  in  a  style  of  such  ceremony  and  form 
as  I  was  little  used  to,  and  not  much  delighted  with.  How 
many  young  men  at  my  time  of  life  would  have  embraced 
this  situation  with  rapture  I  The  whole  town  indeed  was  be- 
fore me,  but  it  had  not  for  me  either  friend  or  relation,  to 
v.hom  I  could  resort  for  comfoit  or  for  counsel.  With  a 
head  filled  ^vith  Greek  and  Latin,  and  a  heart  left  behind  me 
in  my  college,  I  was  completely  out  of  my  element.  I  saw 
myself  unlike  the  people  about  me,  and  Avas  embarrassed  in 
circles,  which  according  to  the  manners  of  those  days  were 
not  to  be  approached  without  a  set  of  ceremonies  and  man- 
ceuvres,  not  very  pleasant  to  perform,  not  very  edifying  ta 
behold.  In  these  graces  Lord  Plalifax  was  a  model ;  his 
address  was  noble  and  impressive  ;  he  could  never  be  mis- 
taken for  less  than  he  was,  whilst  his  official  secretary  Pow- 
nall,  v/ho  egregiously  over-acted  his  imitations  of  him,  could 
as  little  be  mistaken  for  more  than  he  was.  In  the  world, 
which  I  now  belonged  to,  I  heard  very  little,  except  now  and 
then  a  quotation  from  Lord  Halifax,  that  in  any  degree  in- 
terested me  ;  there  were  talkers,  however,  who  would  take 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  69 

possession  of  a  subject  as  a  highwayman  does  of  a  piirae, 
without  knowing  what  it  contained,  or  caring  whom  it  be- 
longed to  :  many  of  these  gentlemen  had  doubtless  found 
that  ignorance  had  been  no  obstacle  to  their  advancement, 
and  now  they  seemed  resolved  it  should  be  no  bar  to  their 
assurance.  I  found  there  was  a  polite  as  well  as  a  political 
glossary,  which  involved  mysteries  little  less  obscure  than 
those,  which  are  couched  under  the  hierogliphics  of  Egypt, 
and  I  perceived  that  whosoever  had  the  ready  use  and  apt 
application  of  those  pass-words,  was  by  right  looked  up  to  as 
the  best  bred  and  best  inform.ed  man  in  the  company  :  v/hen 
a  single  word  can  comprise  the  matter  of  a  whole  volume, 
those  worthy  gentlemen  have  a  sufficient  plea  for  not  wasting 
their  time  upon  reading.  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  wit- 
ness such  amazing  feats  performed  by  impudence,  that  I 
much  wonder  why  modest  men  will  allow  themselves  to  be 
found  in  societies,  where  they  are  condemned  to  be  annoyed 
by  talkers,  who  turn  all  things  upside  dov/n,  whilst  they  are 
not  permitted  to  utter  that  which  would  set  them  right. 

When  it  was  my  chance  to  dine  at  our  boarding-house 
table  with  the  aforementioned  sub-secretary,  I  contemplated 
with  surprise  the  importance  of  his  air,  and  the  dignity  that 
seemed  attached  to  his  official  situation.  The  good  woman 
of  the  house,  who  was  at  once  our  provider  and  our  presi- 
dent, regularly  addressed  him  by  the  name  of  statesman, 
and  in  her  distribution  of  the  joint  shewed  somethmg  more 
than  an  impartial  attention  to  his  plate.  If  he  knew  any 
•  state-secrets,  I  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  never 
disclosed  them  ;  and  if  he  talked  with  ministers  and  great 
nobles  as  he  talked  of  them,  I  will  venture  to  say  he  was  ex- 
tremely familiar  with  them  ;  and  I  cannot  doubt  but  that  this 
was  the  case  ;  for  if  he  was  thus  high  with  his  equals,  it 
surely  behoved  him  to  be  much  higher  with  those  who  but 
for  such  self-swelling  altitudes  might  stand  a  chance  to  pass 
for  his  superiors.  He  had  a  brother  in  the  guards,  a  very 
amiable  man,  and  with  him  I  formed  a  friendship.  Having 
been  told  to  inform  myself  about  the  colonies,  and  shevm 
some  folio  books  of  formidable  contents,  I  began  more  meo 
with  the  discoveries  of  America,  and  proceeded  to  travel 
tlirough  a  mass  of  voyages,  which  furnished  here  and  there 
some  plots  for  tragedies,  dumb  shows  and  dances,  as  they 
have  since  done,  but  in  point  of  information  applicable  to  the 
then-existing  state  of  the  coloniesj  were  most  discouragingly 


TO  MEMOIRS   OF 

meagre,  and  most  oppressively  tedious  in  cowimunicating 
nothing.  I  got  a  summary  but  sufficient  insight  into  the 
constitutions  of  the  respective  provinces,  for  what  was  wortli 
knowing  was  soon  learnt,  and  when  I  found  that  my  whole 
employment  in  Grosvenor-Square  consisted  in  copying  a 
few  private  letters  to  governors  and  civil  officers  abroad,  I 
applied  my  thoughts  to  other  objects,  and  particularly  to  the 
approaching  election  at  my  college  ;  still  London  lodgings 
and  London  hours  were  not  quite  so  well  adapted  to  study 
as  I  could  have  wished,  though  I  changed  my  situation  for 
the  better  when  I  removed  to  an  apartment,  which  was  ta- 
ken for  me  in  Mount- Street,  within  a  very  short  walk  of 
Lord  Halifax's  house,  where  I  attended  for  his  commands 
every  morning,  and  dined  twice  or  thrice  in  the  week. 
One  day  he  took  me  with  him  to  Newcastle  House,  in  Lin- 
coln's Inn  Fields,  for  the  purpose  of  presenting  me  to  the 
Duke,  then  prime  minister  :  his  lordship  was  admitted 
without  delay  ;  I  waited  two  hours  for  my  audience,  and 
was  then  dismissed  in  two  minutes,  whilst  his  grace,  stript 
to  his  shirt,  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up  to  his  elbows,  was 
washing  his  hands. 

The  recess  took  place  at  the  usual  time,  when  Lord  Hali- 
fax left  towTi  and  went  to  Horton  in  Northamptonshire  ;  I 
accompanied  him  thither,  and  from  thence  went  to  Cam- 
bridge ;  he  seemed  interested  in  my  undertaking,  and  offer- 
ed me  letters  of  recommendation,  which  with  due  acknow- 
ledgments I  declined.  On  my  arrival  I  found  Doctor  Ri- 
chard Bentley  had  come  from  his  living  of  Nailstone  in  Lei- 
cestershire, purposely  to  support  my  cause  ;  the  vice-mas- 
ter also  welcomed  me  with  his  accustomed  cordiality,  and  I 
found  the  candidates  of  both  years  had  turned  out  strong  for 
the  contest.  There  were  six  vacancies,  and  six  candidates 
of  the  year  above  me  ;  of  these  Spencer  Madan,  now  Bishop 
ot  Petersborough,  was  as  senior  Westminster  secure  of  his 
election,  and  such  was  his  merit,  independent  of  any  other 
claim,  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  pass  him  over. 
He  was  a  young  man  of  elegant  accomplishments,  and  with 
the  recommendation  of  a  very  interesting  person  and  ad- 
dress, had  derived  from  the  Cowpers,  of  which  family  his 
mother  was,  no  small  proportion  of  hereditary  taste  and  tal- 
ent ;  he  was  a  good  classical  scholar,  composed  excellent 
declamations  in  the  Ciceronian  style,  which  he  set  oif  with 
ail  the  grace  of  recitation  and  voice,  that  cau  well  be  con- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  71 

ceived :  he  had  a  great  passion  for  music,  sung  well,  and 
read  in  chapel  to  the  admiration  of  every  one.  I  have  pass- 
ed many  happy  hours  with  him  in  the  morning  of  our  lives, 
and  I  hope  he  will  enjoy  the  evening  of  his  days  in  comfort 
and  tranquillity,  having  chosen  that  better  lot,  which  has 
brought  him  into  harbour,  whilst  I,  who  lost  it,  am  left  out 
at  sea. 

The  senior  Westminster  «f  my  year,  and  joint  candidate 
with  me  at  this  time,  was  John  Higgs,  now  Rector  of  Gran- 
disburgh  in  Suffolk,  and  a  senior  fellow  of  Trinity  College  ; 
a  man,  who,  when  I  last  visited  him,  enjoyed  all  the  vigour 
of  mind  and  body  in  a  green  old  age,  the  result  of  good  hu- 
mour, and  the  reward  of  temperance.  We  have  spun  out 
mutually  a  long  measure  of  uninterrupted  friendship,  he  in 
peace  throughout,  and  I  at  times  in  perplexity  ;  and  if  I  sur- 
vive to  complete  these  memoirs,  and  he  to  read  this  page,  I 
desire  he  will  receive  it  as  a  testimony  of  my,  unaltered  re- 
gard for  him  through  life,  and  the  bequest  of  my  last  good 
wishes  at  the  close  of  it. 

It  would  hardly  be  excusable  in  me  to  detail  a  process, 
that  takes  place  every  year,  but  that  in  this  instance  the  no- 
velty of  our  case  made  it  matter  of  very  general  attention. 
When  the  day  of  examination  came,  we  went  our  rounds  to 
the  electing  seniors  ;  in  some  instances  by  one  at  a  time,  in 
others  by  parties  of  three  or  four ;  it  was  no  trifling  scrutiny 
we  had  to  undergo,  and  here  and  there  pretty  severely  ex- 
acted, particularly,  as  I  well  remember,  by  Doctor  Charles 
Mason,  a  man  of  curious  knowledge  in  the  philosophy  of 
mechanics  and  a  deep  mathematician  ;  he  was  a  true  modern 
Diogenes,  in  manners  and  apparel,  coarse  and  slovenly  to 
excess  in  both  ;  the  witty  made  a  butt  of  him,  but  the  scien- 
tific caressed  him  ;  he  could  ornament  a  subject  at  the  same 
time  that  he  disgusted  and  disgraced  society.  I  remember 
when  he  came  one  day  to  dinner  in  the  college  hall,  dirty  as 
a  blacksmith  from  his  forge,  upon  his  being  questioned  on 
his  appearance,  replied — that  he  had  been  turning — ^then  I 
wish,  said  the  other,  when  you  was  about  it,  friend  Charles, 
you  had  turned  your  shirt.  This  philosopher,  as  I  was 
prepared  to  believe,  decidedly  opposed  my  election.  He 
gave  us  a  good  dose  of  dry  mathematics,  and  then  put  an 
Aristophanes  before  us,  which  he  opened  at  a  venture,  and 
i  bade  us  give  the  sense  of  it.  A  very  worthy  candidate  of 
1 'T^y  yeai'declmed  ht\,\'ing  anything  to  do  with  it,  yet  Mason 


12  MEMOIRS  OF 

gave  his  vote  for  that  gentleman,  and  agamst  me  who  took 
his  leavings.  Doctor  Samuel  Hooper  gave  us  a  liberal  and 
well  chosen  examination  in  the  more  familiar  classics ;  that 
indeed  was  a  man,  in  whom  nothing  could  be  found  but 
what  was  gentle  and  engaging,  whom  suavity  of  temper 
and  the  charms  of  manners  made  dear  to  all  that  knew  him  ; 
he  died  and  was  buried  in  the  chapel  of  his  college,  where  a 
marble  tablet,  erected  to  his  memory,  cannot  fail  to  awa- 
ken the  sensibility  of  all,  who  like  me,  were  acquainted 
with  his  virtues. 

The  last,  whom  in  order  of  our  visits  we  resorted  to,  was 
the  master ;  he  called  us  to  him  one  by  one  according  to  our 
standings,  and  of  course  it  fell  to  me  as  junior  candidate  to 
wait  till  each  had  been  examined  in  his  turn.  When  in  obe- 
dience to  his  summons  I  attended  upon  him,  he  was  sitting, 
not  in  the  room  where  my  grandfather  had  his  library,  but 
in  a  chamber  up  stairs,  encompassed  with  large  folding 
screens,  and  over  a  great  fire,  though  the  weather  was 
then  uncommonly  warm :  he  began  by  requiring  of  me  an 
account  of  the  whole  course  and  progress  of  my  studies  in 
the  several  branches  of  philosophy,  so  called  in  the  general, 
and  as  I  proceeded  in  my  detail  of  what  I  had  read,  he  sifted 
me  with  questions  of  such  a  sort  as  convinced  me  he  was 
determined  to  take  nothing  upon  trust  ;  when  he  had  held 
me  a  considerable  time  under  this  examination,  I  expected 
he  would  have  dismissed  me,  but  on  the  contrary  he  pro- 
ceeded in  the  like  general  terms  to  demand  of  me  an  account 
of  what  I  had  been  reading  before  I  had  applied  myself  to 
-academical  studies,  and  when  I  had  acquitted  myself  of  this 
question  as  briefly  as  I  could,  and  I  hope  as  modestly  as  be- 
came me  in  presence  of  a  man  so  learned,  he  bade  me  give 
a  summary  account  of  the  several  great  empires  of  the  an- 
cient world,  the  periods  w^hen  they  flourished,  their  extent 
when  at  the  summit  of  their  power,  the  causes  of  their  de- 
clention  and  dates  of  their  extinction.  When  summoned  to 
give  answer  to  so  wide  a  question,  I  can  only  say  it  v/as  well 
for  me  I  had  worked  so  hard  upon  my  scheme  of  General 
History,  which  I  have  before  made  mention  of,  and  which, 
though  not  complete  in  all  the  points  of  his  inquiry,  sup- 
plied me  with  nnaterials  for  such  a  detail,  as  seemed  to  give 
him  more  than  tolerable  satisfaction.  This  process  being 
over,  he  gave  me  a  sheet  of  paper  written  through  in  Greek 
in  liis  own  hand,  w^hich  lie  ordei'ed  me  to  turn  tether  into 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  73 

f 

Latiii  or  English,  and  I  was  shewn  into  a  room,  contanun^ 

nothmg  but  a  table  furnished  with  materials  for  writing,  and 
one  chair,  and  I  was  required  to  use  dispatch.  The  passage 
was  maliciously  enough  selected  in  pohit  of  construction,  and 
also  of  character,  for  he  had  scrawled  it  out  in  a  puzzling 
kind  of  hand  with  abbreviations  of  his  own  devising  ;  it  re- 
lated to  the  arrangement  of  an  army  for  battle,  and  I  believe 
might  be  taken  from  Polybius,  an  author  I  had  never  read. 
When  I  had  given  in  my  translation  in  Latin,  I  was  remand- 
ed to  the  empty  chamber  Avith  a  subject  for  Latin  prose  and 
another  for  Latin  verse,  and  again  required  to  dispatch  them 
in  the  manner  of  an  impromptu.  The  chamber,  into  which 
I  was  shut  for  the  performance  of  these  hasty  productions, 
was  the  very  room,  dismantled  of  the  bed,  in  which  I  was 
born.  The  train  of  ideas  it  revived  hi  my  mind  were  not 
inappositely  v/ovcn  into  the  verses  I  gave  in,  and  with  this 
task  my  examination  concluded. 

JDoctor  Smith,  who  so  worthily  succeeded  to  the  master- 
ship of  Trinity  on  my  grandfather's  decease,  was  unquestion- 
ably one  of  the  iPxOst  learned  men  of  his  time,  as  his  werks, 
especially  his  System  of  Optics,  effectually  demonstrate. 
He  led  the  life  of  a  student,  abstemious  and  recluse,  his  fam- 
ily consisting  of  a  sister,  advanced  in  years  and  ufimarried 
like  himself,  together  with  a  niece,  v/ho  in  the  course  of 
her  residence  there  was  married  to  a  fellow  of  the  college. 
He  was  a  man,  of  whom  it  might  be  said— Philosophy  /lad 
marked  him  for  her  own  ;  of  a  thin  spare  habit,  a  nose  prom- 
inently aquiline,  and  an  eye  penetrating  as  that  of  the  bird, 
the  semblance  of  whose  beak  marked  the  character  of  his 
face  :  the  tone  of  his  voice  was  shrill  and  nasal,  and  lus  man- 
ner of  speaking  such  as  denoted  forethought  and  deliberation. 
How  deep  a  theorist  he  was  in  harmony  his  treatise  will 
evince;  of  mere  melody  he  was  indignantly  neglectful,  and 
could  not  reconcile  his  ear  to  the  harpsichord,  till  by  a  con-> 
struction  of  his  own  he  had  divided  the  half  tones  into  their 
proper  fiats  and  sharps.  Those  who  figured  to  themselves 
a  Diogenes  in  Mason,  might  have  fancied  they  beheld  an. 
Aristotle  in  Smith,  who,  had  he  lived  in  the  age  and  fallen 
within  the  eye  of  the  great  designer  of  the  School  of  Athens, 
might  have  left  his  image  there  without  discrediting  the 
groupe. 

The  next  day  the  election  was  announced,  and  I  was  cho- 
sen, together  with  Mr.  John  Orde,  now  one  of  the  maJ^ter.s 

G 


74  MEMOIRS  OF 

in  Chancery,  who  was  of  the  same  year  with  myself,  and 
next  to  me  upon  the  list  of  Wranglers,  This  gentleman 
had  also  gained  the  prize  adjudged  to  him  for  his  Latin  de- 
clamation ;  for  his  private  w^orthiness  he  was  universally 
esteemed,  and  for  his  public  merits  deservedly  rewarded. 
Fy  our  election  two  candidates  of  the  year  above  us  forever 
lost  their  chance  ;  the  one  of  these  a  Mr.  Briggs,  the  other 
Mr.  Penneck,  a  name  well  known,  and  a  character  much 
esteemed  :  he  filled  a  situation  in  the  British  Museum  with 
great  recpectability,  was  a  very  amiable  worthy  man,  high- 
ly valued  by  his  friends  w^hen  living,  and  much  lamented 
after  death.  His  disappointment  on  this  occasion  was  very 
generally  regretted,  and  I  think  I  can  answer  for  the  feelings 
of  Mr.  Orde  as  confidently  as  for  my  own. 

When  I  waited  upon  the  electing  seniors  to  return  my 
thanks,  of  course  I  did  not  omit  to  pay  my  compliments  to 
Doctor  Mason.-—"  You  owe  me  no  compliment,  he  replied, 
"  for  I  tell  you  plainly  I  opposed  your  election,  not  because 
"  I  have  any  personal  objection  to  you,  but  because  I  am  no 
"  friend  to  innovations,  and  think  it  hard  upon  the  excluded 
<'  candidates  to  be  subjected  on  a  sudden  to  a  regulation, 
''  which  according  to  my  calculation  gives  you  t^\  o  chances 
"  to  their  one,  and  takes  away  as  it  has  proved,  even  that 
*^  one.  But  you  are  in  ;  so  there's  an  end  of  it,  and  I  give 
"  you  joy." 

Having  staid  as  long  in  college  as  in  gratitude  and  propri- 
ety I  conceived  it  right  to  stay,  I  went  home  to  Stanwdck, 
and  from  thence  paid  my  duty  in  a  short  visit  to  Lord  Halifax. 
This  was  certainly  a  mom.ent,  of  which  I  could  have  avail- 
ed my  self  for  returning  into  the  line  of  life,  which  I  had  stept 
out  of,  and  as  neither  now,  nor  in  any  day  of  my  long  atten- 
dance upon  Lord  Halifax,  there  ever  was  an  hour,  when  my 
father  would  not  have  lent  a  ready  ear  to  my  appeal,  the  rea- 
sons, that  prevailed  with  me  for  persisting,  were  not  dicta- 
ted by  him.  In  the  m.ean  time  the  life  I  led  in  town  during 
the  first  years  of  my  attendance  was  almost  as  much  seques- 
tered from  the  world,  as  if  I  had  been  resident  in  college  : 
in  my  lodging  in  Mount-street  I  had  stocked  myself  with  my 
o^YYi  books,  some  of  my  father's,  and  those  which  Doctor 
Richard  Bentley  had  bestowed  upon  me  ;  I  sought  no  com- 
pany, nor  pushed  for  any  nev/  connexions  amongst  those, 
whom  I  occasionally  met  in  Grosvenor-Square  :  one  or  two 
of  my  fellow  collegiates  now  and  then  looked  in  upon  me. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  75 

and  about  this  time  I  made  my  first  small  oiTeiing  to  the 
press,  following  the  steps  of  Gray  with  another  church-yard 
elegy,  written  on  Saint  Mark's  eve,  when,  according  to  ru- 
ral tradition  the  ghosts  of  those,  who  are  to  die  witiiin  the 
year  ensuing,  are  seen  to  walk  at  midnight  across  the  cluirch- 
yard.  I  believe  the  public  were  very  little  interested  by  my 
plaintive  ditty,  and  Mr.  Dodsley,  who  was  publisher,  as  little 
profited.  I  had  written  it  at  Stanwick  m  one  of  my  college 
vacations,  some  time  before  I  belonged  to  Lord  Halifax, 
and  had  affixed  to  my  title  page  the  following  motto  with 
v/hich  I  sent  it  into  the  world — 

"  — —  Akoi;  dl  TO*  ccy'yiXo(;  E^/^tf, 

«  I  AXXci:  TV  a-r.cnv  Ep^s  (fipsVi,  /-cvids  ctb  A'/i^vi 

"  Alpihoj  eLV  av  CTE  /xsXiGpO'y  y^voj  avri>i. 

I  had  made  my  stay  at  Horton  as  short  as  I  could  with  pro- 
priety, being  impatient  to  avail  myself  of  every  day  that  I 
could  pass  in  the  society  of  my  family.  With  them  I  was 
happy  ;  in  their  company  I  enjoyed  those  tranquil  and  deli- 
cious hours,  which  were  endeared  to  me  still  mxore  by  the 
contrast  of  what  I  suffered  when  in  absence  from  them. 

With  all  these  sensations  within  me,  these  filial  feelings 
and  family  attachment,  I  hardly  need  confess,  that,  hov/ever 
time  and  experience  mayjiave  changed  my  taste  or  capacity 
for  public  life,  certain  it  is  that  I  was  not  then  fitted  for  it, 
rior  had  any  of  those  worldly  qualities  and  accommodations 
in  my  nature,  which  are  sure  to  push  their  possessors  into 
notice,  and  form  what  may  be  called  the  very  nidus  of  good 
fortune.  A  man,  who  is  gifted  with  these  lucky  talents,  is 
armed  with  hands,  as  a  ship  with  grappling  irons,  ready  to 
catch  hold  of,  and  make  himself  fast  to  every  thing  he  comes 
in  contact  with ;  and  such  a  man,  with  all  these  properties 
of  adhesion,  has  also  the  property,  like  the  polypus,  of  a 
most  miraculous  and  convenient  indivisibility  ;  cut  off  his 
hold,  nay,  cut  him  how  you  will,  he  is  still  a  polypus,  whole 
and  entire.  Men  of  this  sort  shall  work  their  way  out  of  their 
obscvirity  like  cockroaches  out  of  the  hold  of  a  ship,  and  crawl 
into  notice,  nay,  even  into  king's  palaces,  as  the  frogs  did 
into  Pharaoh's  :  the  happy  faculty  of  noting  times  and  sea- 
sons, and  a  lucky  promptitude  to  avail  themselves  of  mo- 
ments with  address  and  boldness,  are  alone  such  all-suffi- 
cient requisites,  such  marketable  stores  of  worldly  know- 
ledge, that  although  the  minds  of  those,  who  own  them, 


^6  MEMOIRS  Ol 

shall  be,  as  to  all  the  liberal  sciences,  a  rasa  tabula^  yet 
knowing  these  things  needful  to  be  known,  let  their  difficul- 
iTcs  and  distresses  be  what  they  may,  though  the  storm  of 
adversity  threatens  to  overwhelm  them,  they  are  in  a  life- 
boat, buoyed  up  by  corks,  and  cannot  sink.  These  are  the 
scray  children,  turned  loose  upon  the  world,  whom  fortune 
in  her  charity  takes  charge  of,  and  for  wdiose  guidance  in 
the  bye -ways  and  cross-roads  of  their  pilgrimage  she  sets  up 
iiiiry  fmger-posts,  discoverable  by  them  whose  eyes  are 
near  the  ground,  but  unperceived  by  such,  whose  looks  are 
raised  above  it. 

In  a  nation,  like  this,  where  all  ranks  and  degrees  are  laid 
open  to  enterprize,  merit  or  good  fortune,  it  is  fit,  right  and 
natural  that  sudden  elevations  should  occur  and  be  encourag- 
ed. It  is  a  spur  to  industry,  and  incites  to  emulation  and 
laudable  ambition.  Whilst  it  leads  to  these  good  conse- 
quences, it  must  also  tend  to  others  of  a  different  sort.  In 
all  communities  so  constituted  there  will  be  a  secret  market 
for  cunning,  as  well  as  a  fair  emporium  for  honesty,  and  a 
vast  body  of  men,  who  can't  support  themselves  without  la- 
bour of  some  sort,  and  won't  live  by  the  labour  of  their  hands, 

must  contrive  to  live  by  their  wits 

Honest  men 
Are  the  soft  easij  cushions^  on  'iVhich  knaves 
Repose  and  fatten—^ 
But  there  are  more  than  these — Vain  men  will  have  their 
flatterers,  rich  men  their  followers,  and  powerful  men  their 
dependants.     A  great  man  in  office  is  like  a  great  whale  in 
Xh^  ocean;  there  will  be  a  sword-fish  and  a  thresher,  a  Junius 
and  a  John  Wilkes,  ever  in  his  wake  and  arming  to  attack 
him  :* Those  are  the  vext  spirits  of  the  deep,  who  trouble 
i'v^Q^  waters,  turning  them  up  from  the  very  bottom,  that  they 
may  emerge  from  their  mud,  and  float  upon  the  surface  of 
the  billows  in  foam  of  their  making. 

The  abstract  history  of  some  of  these  gentry  is  curious-— 
w^hen  they  have  made  a  wa^eck  of  their  own  reputation,  they 
assault  and  tear  in  pieces  tlie  reputations  of  others  ;  they  de- 
fame man  and  blaspheme  Gsd  ;  they  are  punished  for  their 
enormities;  this  makes  them  martyrs  ;  martyrdom  i«akes 
them  popular,  they  are  crov»^ned  with  praises,  honours  and 
emoluments,  and  they  leave  the  world  in  admiration  of  their 
talents,  before  they  have  tasted  the  contempt  which  they 
deserve. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  7r 

But  whilst  these  men  may  be  said  to  fight  their  way  into 
consequence,  and  so  long  as  they  can  but  live  in  notice  are 
content  to  live  in  trouble,  there  is  a  vast  majority  of  easy, 
unambitious,  courteous  humble  servants,  whose  unoffending 
vanity  aspires  no  higher  than  like  Samson's  bees  to  make 
honey  in  the  bowels  of  a  lion,  and  fatten  on  the  offal  of  a  rich 
man's  superfluities.  They  ask  no  more  of  fortune  than  to 
float,  like  the  horse  dung  with  the  apples,  and  enjoy  the 
credit  of  good  company  as  they  travel  down  the  smooth  and 
easy  stream  of  life.  For  these  there  is  a  vast  demand,  and 
their  talents  are  as  various  as  the  uses  they  are  put  to. 
Every  great,  rich  and  consequential  man,  who  has  not  the 
wisdom  to  hold  his  tongue,  must  enjoy  his  privilege  of  talk* 
ing,  and  there  must  be  dull  fellows  to  listen  to  him  ;  again, 
if,  by  talking  about  what  he  does  not  understand,  he  gets  in- 
to embarrassments,  there  must  be  clever  fellows  to  help  him 
out  of  them  ;  when  he  would  be  merry,  there  must  be 
witty  rogues  to  make  him  laugh  ;  when  he  would  be  sor- 
rowful, there  must  be  sad  rogues  to  sigh  and  groan  and 
make  long  faces :  as  a  great  man  must  be  never  in  the  wrong, 
there  must  be  hardy  rascals,  who  will  swear  he  is  always  in 
the  right ;  as  he  must  never  show  fear,  of  course  he  must 
never  see  danger ;  and  as  his  courage  must  at  no  time  sink, 
there  must  be  fi'iends  at  all  times  ready  to  prevent  its  being 
tried. 

A  great  man  is  entitled  to  his  relaxations  ;  he,  who  labours 
for  the  public,  must  recreate  his  spirit  with  his  private 
friends  :  then  it  is  that  the  happy  m.oments,  the  mollia  tern- 
flora  are  to  be  found,  which  the  adfept  in  the  art  of  rising 
knows  so  well  how  to  make  his  use  of.  Of  opportunities 
like  these  I  have  had  my  share  ;  I  never  turned  them  to  my 
own  advantage  ;  if  at  any  time  I  undertook  a  small  solicita- 
tion, or  obtruded  a  request  it  was  for  some  humble  client, 
who  told  a  melancholy  tale,  and  could  advance  no  nearer  to 
the  principal  than  by  making  suit  to  me  ;  in  the  mean  time 
I  saw  many  a  favour  wrested  by  importunity  out  of  that 
course,  which  I  had  reason  to  expect  they  would  have 
taken  :  I  never  remonstrated  and  a  very  slight  apology  suf- 
ficed for  me.  These  negative  merits  I  may  fairly  claim 
without  offence  against  the  modesty  of  truth  ;  I  was  assidu- 
ous in  discharging  all  the  duties  of  my  small  employ,  and 
faithfully  attached  to  my  employer  :  if  he  had  no  call  upon 
me  for  more  or  greater  services  than  any  man  of  the  com- 

G   2 


78  MEMOIRS  OF 

Hionest  capacity  could  have  performed,  it  was  because  6c- 
-casions  did  not  occur  ;  I  had  not  the  fault  of  neglecting  what 
I  had  to  do,  nor  tlie  presumption  of  dictating  in  any  single  in- 
stance what  should  be  done. 

Lord  Halifax  wrote  all  his  ovm  dispatches,  and  with  rea- 
son, for  he  wrote  well ;  but  I  am  tempted  to  record  one  op- 
portunity, that  v/as  thrown  in  my  way  by  the  candoui^of  Mr. 
Charles  Townshend,  wliilst  he  was  passing  a  few  days  at 
Horton  ;  amongst  a  variety  of  subjects,  wliich  his  active  im- 
agination was  for  ever  starting,  something  had  recurred  to 
his  recollection  of  an  enigmatical  sort,  that  he  wished  to 
have  the  solution  of,  and  could  not  strike  upon  it  ;  it  was 
only  to  be  done  ])y  a  geometrical  process,  which  1  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  hit  upon  ;  I  worked  it  as  a  problem  and 
gave  him  my  solution  in  writing  ;  I  believe  it  pleased  him, 
but  T  ara  very  sure  that  his  good  nature  v/as  glad  of  the  op- 
portunity to  say  flattering  things  to  a  diffident  young  man, 
who  said  very  little  for  himself,  and  further  to  do  me  grace 
he  was  pleased  to  put  into  my  hands  a  very  long  and  elabo- 
rate report  of  his  own  drawing  up,  for  he  was  then  one  of 
the  Lords  of  Trade,  and  this  he  condescended  to  desire  I 
v/ould  carefully  revise  and  give  him  my  remarks  without 
reserve.  Howldghly  I  was  gratified  by  this  condescension 
in  a  man  of  iiis  extraordinary  and  superior  genius,  I  need  not 
say,  nor  how  well,  or  how  ill,  I  executed  my  commission  ; 
I  did  it  to  the  best  of  my  abilities  ;  there  was  much  to  ad- 
mire, and  something  here  and  there  in  his  paper  to  warrant 
a  remark  :  if  Ids  compliments  were  sincere,  I  succeeded, 
and  shortly  after  I  had  proofs,  that  put  his  kind  opinion  of 
me  out  of  doubt. 

One  morning  in  conversation  tete-a-tete,  he  said  he  re- 
collected a  quotation  he  had  chanced  upon  in  an  anonymous 
author,  v/ho  maintained  opinions  of  a  very  impious  sort.— «- 
The  passage  he  repeated  is  as  follows — 

Post  mortem  nihil  est^  ijisaq  ;  mors  nihil-^ 
And  he  asked  me  if  I  knew  where  those  words  were  to  be 
found  :  I  recollected  them  to  be  in  one  of  the  tragedies  of 
Seneca,  I  believed  it  was  that  of  the  Troades,  which  I  had 
lately  chanced  upon  amongst  my  greiudfather's  books  :  as 
soon  as  I  had  access  to  these,  I  turned  to  the  passage,  and 
according  to  his  desire  copied  and  enclosed  it  to  him.  'Tis 
ibund  in  the  second  act  of  the  Troades,  and  as  it  is  a  curious 
extract,  and  short  withal,  I  have  inserted  it.  together  with 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  79 

the  stanzas  written  at  the  time  and  transmitted  with  it, 
which,  though  not  very  closely  translated,  I  have  transcribe 
cd  vert^atim  as  I  find  them. 

Verum  est,  an  timidos  fabula  decipit 
Umbras  cordoribus  vivere  conditis  ? 
Cum  conjux  oculis  imposuit  manum-, 
Supremusq  ;  dies  solibus  obstitit, 
Et  tristcs  cineres  urna  coercuit, 
Non  prodest  animam  tradere  funeri, 
Sed  restat  miseris  vivere  lon^ns. 
An  toti  morimur,  nullaq  ;  pars  manet 
Nostri,  cum  profugo  spiritus  halitu 
Immistus  nebulis  cessit  in  aera, 
Et  nudum  tetigit  subdita  fax  latus —  ? 

Quidquid  sol  oriens,  quidquid  et  occidens 
Novit,  cseruleisoceanusfretis 
Quidquid  vel  veniens  vel  fugiens  lavat, 
^tas  pegaseo  corripiet  gradu. 
Quo  bissena  volant  sidera  turbine, 
Quo  cursu  properat  secula  volvere 
Astrorum  dominus,  quo  properat  mode 
Obliquis  liecate  curere  flexubus. 
Hoc  omnes  petimus  fata  ;  nee  amplius 
Juratos  Superis  qui  tetigit  lacus 
Usquam  est:  ut  calidis  fumus ab ignibus 
Vanescit,  spatium  per  breve  sordidus, 
Ut  nubes  gravidas,  quas  modo  vidimus, 
Arctoi  Boreie  disjicit  impetus. 
Sic  hie,  guo  regimur,  spiritus  effluet. 
Post  monem  nihil  est,  ipsaq  ;  mors  nihil ; 
Velocis  spatii  meta  novissima. 
Spem  ponant  avidi,  solliciti  metum  ! 
Qua^ris  quo  jaceas  post  obitum  loco— -  ? 
Quo  non  nata  jacent. 
Tempus  nos  avidum  devorat,  et  chaos : 
Mors  indi vidua  est ;  noxia  corpori, 
Neoparcensanimx.     Tsenara,  et  aspero 
Regnum  sub  domino,  limen  et  obsidens 
Custos  non  facili  Cerberus  ostio, 
Rumores  vacui,  verbasq  ;  inania, 
Et  par  sollicito  fabula  somnio. 


80  MEMOIRS  OF 

Chorus  of  Trojan  Women. 

**  Is  it  a  truth,  or  fiction  all, 
"  Which  only  cowards  trust, 

"  Shall  the  soul  live  beyond  the  grave, 
"Or  mingle  with  our  dust  ? 

'*  When  the  last  gleam  of  parting  day 
"  Our  struggling  sight  hath  blest, 

"  And  in  the  pale  array  of  death 
"  Our  clay -cold  limbs  are  drest, 

"  Did  the  kind  friend  who  clos'd  our  eyes, 
"  Speak  peace  to  us  in  vain  ? 

"  Is  there  no  peace,  and  have  we  died 
"  To  live  and  weep  again  ? 

"  Or  sigh'd  we  then  our  souls  away, 
"  And  was  that  sigh  our  last, 

"  Or  e'er  upon  the  flaming  pile 
"  Our  bare  remains  were  cast  ? 

"  All  the  svm  sees,  the  ocean  laves, 
"  Kingdoms  and  kings  shall  fall, 

"  Nature  and  nature's  works  shall  cease, 
"  And  time  be  lord  of  all. 

*'  Swift  as  the  monarch  of  the  skies 

"  Impels  the  rolling  year, 
"  Swift  as  the  gliding  orb  of  night 

*'  Pursues  her  prone  career, 

"  So  swift  so  sure  we  all  descend 
"  DoAvn  life's  continual  tide, 

"  'Tifl  in  the  void  of  fate  profound 
"  We  smk  with  worlds  beside. 

"  As  in  the  flame's  resistless  glare 
"  Th'  envelop'd  smoke  is  lost, 

"  Or  as  before  the  driving  North 
"  The  scatter'd  clouds  are  tost, 

"  So  this  proud  vapour  shall  expire, 
"  This  all-directing  soul, 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  81 

"  Nothing  is  after  death  ;  you've  run 
"  Your  race  and  reach'd  the  goal. 

^  Dare  not  to  wish,  nor  dread  to  meet 

"  A  life  beyond  the  grave  ; 
"  You'll  meet  no  other  life  than  now 

"  The  unborn  ages  have. 

"  Time  whelms  us  in  the  vast  Inane, 

"  A  gulph  without  a  shore  ; 
*'  Death  gives  th^  exterminating  blow, 

"  We  fall  to  rise  no  more. 

^'  Hell,  and  its  triple -headed  guard, 

"  And  Lethe's  fabled  stream, 
"  Are  tales  that  lying  gossips  tell, 

*'  And  moon-struck  Sybils  dream. '^ 

It  was  the  good  old  custom  of  the  Earl  of  Halifax  to  pass 
the  Christmas  at  his  family  seat  of  Horton  in  grea.t  hospita- 
lity, and  upon  these  occasions  he  never  failed  to  be  accom- 
panied by  parties  of  his  friends  and  intimates  from  town  ,  the 
chief  of  these  were  the  Lords  Dupplin  and  Barrington,  Mr. 
Charles  Townshend,  Mr.  Francis  Fane,  Mr.  James  Oswald, 
Mr.  Hans  Stanley,  Mr.  Narbonne  Berkeley,  Lord  Hillsbo- 
rough, Mr.  Dodington,  Colonel  James  Johnstone,  the  hus- 
band of  his  sister  Lady  Charlotte,  and  Mr.  Ambrose  Isted  of 
Hecton,  near  Northampton,  his  neighbour  and  constant  visi- 
tor at  those  seasons:  these,  with  the  addition  of  Doctor  Crane 
and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Spencer,  an  elderly  clergyman,  long 
attached  to  the  family,  formed  a  society  highly  respectable. 
'I  ever  entertained  a  perfect  and  sincere  regard  for  Lady  Ha- 
4ifax ;  her  mild  complacent  character  was  to  me  far  more 
engaging  than  the  livelier  spirits  and  more  figuri  j  talents 
of  many,  who  engrossed  that  attention,  which  she  did  not 
aspire  to  :  she  was  uniform  in  her  kindness  to  me,  and  whilst 
she  lived,  I  flatter  myself  I  had  a  friend,  who  esteemed  and 
understood  me  :  when  she  died  I  had  more  reason  to  regret 
her  loss  than  for  myself  alone. 

•  My  father  was  still  fixed  in  his  residence  at  Stanwick,  and 
there  I  ever  found  unvaried  felicity,  unabated  affection.  He 
had  some  excellent  friends  and  many  pleasant  neighbours, 
with  whom  he  lived  upon  the  lao^t  ao;reeable  terms,  for 


82  MEMOIRS  OF 

in  his  house  every  body  seemed  to  be  happy  ;  his  table  was 
admirably  managed  by  my  mother,  his  cellars,  servants, 
equipage  in  the  best  order,  and  without  parade  unbecoming 
of  his  profession,  or  unsuitable  to  his  fortune,  no  family  could 
be  better  conducted  ;  and  here  I  must  indulge  myself  in  di- 
lating on  the  character  of  one  of  his  best  friends,  and  best  of 
men,  Ambrose  Isted,  Esq.  of  Ecton  aforementioned.  Thro' 
every  scene  of  my  life,  from  my  childhood  to  the  lamented 
event  of  his  death,  which  happened  whilst  I  was  in  Spam, 
he  was  invariably  kind,  indulgent  and  affectionate  to  me.  I 
conceive  there  is  not  upon  record  one,who  more  perfectly  ful- 
filled the  true  character  of  a  country  gentlemen  in  all  its  most 
respectable  duties  and  departments  than  did  this  exemplary 
person ;  nor  will  his  name  be  forgotten  in  Northampton- 
shire so  long  as  the  memory  or  tradition  of  good  deeds  shall 
circulate,  or  gratitude  be  considered  as  a  tribute  due  to  the 
benevolent.  He  was  the  pattern  and  very  model  of  hospita- 
lity most  worthy  to  be  copied  ;  for  his  family  and  aff*airs  were 
administered  and  conducted  with  such  measured  libera- 
rality,  such  correct  and  wise  oeconomy,  that  the  friend^  who 
found  nothing  wanting,  which  could  constitute  his  cort^for* 
found  nothing  wastefuUy  superfluous  to  occasion  his  regret. 
Though  Mr.  I sted's  estate  was  not  large,  yet  by  the  process 
of  enclosure,  and  above  all  bv  his  prudent  and  well-ordered 
management,  it  was  augmented  without  extortion,  and  left 
in  excellent  condition  to  his  son  and  heir.  The  benefits  he 
conferred  upon  his  poorer  neighbours  were  of  a  nature  far 
superior  to  the  common  acts  of  alms  giving  (though  these 
were  not  omitted)  for  in  all  their  difficulties  and  embarrass- 
ments, he  was  their  counsellor  and  adviser,  not  merely  in 
his  capacity  of  acting  justice  of  the  peace,  but  also  from  his 
legal  knowledge  and  experience,  which  were  very  consider- 
able, and  fully  competent  to  all  their  uses  ;  by  which  num- 
bers, who  might  else  have  fallen  under  the  talons  of  country 
attornies,  were  saved  from  pillage  and  beggary.  With  this 
gentleman  my  father  acted  as  justice,  and  was  united  in 
friendship  and  in  party,  and  to  him  he  resorted  upon  all  oc- 
casions, where  the  opinion  and  advice  of  a  judicious  friend 
were  wanted.  Our  families  corresponded  in  the  ut- 
most harmony,  and  our  interchange  of  visits  was  fre- 
quent and  delightful.  The  house  of  Ecton  was  to  me 
a  second  home,  and  the  hospitable  master  of  it  a  second 
father  i    his  gaiety  of  he^rt,  his  suavity  of  temper,  the 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  83 

interest  he  took  in  giving  pleasure  to  his  guests,  and  the 
fund  of  information  he  possessed  in  the  stores  of  a  well-fur- 
nished memory  and  a  lively  animated  genius,  are  ever  fresh 
in  my  recollection,  and  I  look  back  upon  the  days  I  have  pas-  ,.^. 
sed  with  him  as  some  of  the  happiest  in  my  life.  For  manjt^^ 
years  before  his  death,  I  saw  this  excellent  man  by  intervals*" 
excruciated  with  a  tormenting  and  incurable  disease,  which 
laid  too  deep  and  undiscoverable  in  his  vitals  to  admit  of  any 
other  relief  than  laudanum  in  large  doses  could  at  times  ad- 
minister :  nothing  but  a  soul  serene  and  piously  resigned  as 
his  was,  could  have  borne  itself  up  against  a  visitation  at  once 
so  agonizhig  and  so  hopeless  ;  a  spirit  however  fortified  by 
faith,  and  a  conscience  clear  of  reproach  can  effect  great 
things,  and  my  heroic  friend  through  all  his  trials  smiled  in 
the  midst  of  sufferings,  and  submitted  unrepining  to  his  fate. 
One  of  the  last  letters  he  lived  to  write  I  received  in  Spain  : 
I  saw  it  was  the  effort  of  an  exhausted  frame,  a  generous 
zeal  to  send  one  parting  testimony  of  his  aff*ection  to  me, 
and  being  at  that  time  myself  extremely  ill,  I  was  hardly  in 
a  capacity  to  dictate  a  reply. 

I  was  also  at  this  time  in  habits  of  the  most  intimate  friend- 
ship with  two  young  men  of  my  own  age,  sons  of  a  worthy 
clergyman  in  our  neighbourhood,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Ekins. 
Jeffery  the  elder,  now  deceased,  was  Dean  of  Carlisle,  and 
Rector  of  Morpeth  ;  John  the  youn^^er  is  yet  living  and 
Dean  of  Salisbury.     Few  men  have  been  more  fortunate  in 
life-than  these  brothers,  fewer  still  have  probably  so  well 
deserved  their  good  success.     With  the  elder  of  these  my 
I  intimacy   was  the  greatest ;  the   sam.e  passion  for  poetry 
\  possessed  us  both,  the  same  attachment  to  the  drama ;  our 
'  respective  families  indulged  us  in  our  propensities,  and  were 
i  mutually  amused  with  our  domestic  exhibitions.     My  friend 
\  Jeifery  was  in  my  family  as  I  was  in   his,  an  inmate  ever 
welcome  ;  his  genius  was   quick  and  brilliant,  his  temper 
sweet,  and  his   nature  mild  and  gentle  in  the  extreme  :  I 
loved  him  as  a  brother  ;  we  never  had  the  slightest  jar,  nor 
can  I  recollect  the  moment  in  our  lives,  that  ever  gave  occa- 
sion of  offence  to  either.     Our  destinations  separated  us  in 
the  more  advanced  period  of  our  time  ;  his  duties  drew 
him  to  a  distance  from  the  scenes  I  was  engaged  in  :  his  lot 
was  prosperous  and  placid,  and  well  for  him  it  was,  for  he 
was  not  made  to  combat  with  the  storms  of  life.     In  early 
youth,  long  before  he  took  orders,  he  composed  a  drama  o^ 


84  MEMOIRS  OF 

an  allegorical  cast,  which  he  entitled  Flono^  or  The  Puvfiuit 
of  Haptiiness.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  fancy  in  it,  and  I 
wrote  a  comment  upon  it  almost  as  long  as  the  drama  itself, 
which  I  sent  to  him  as  a  mark  of  my  admiration  of  his  genius, 
and  my  affection  for  his-  person.  He  also  wrote  a  poem 
upon  Dreams^  which  had  great  merit,  but  as  I  wished  my 
friend  to  employ  his  talents  upon  subjects  of  a  more  eleva- 
ted nature,  I  addressed  some  lines  to  him  in  the  style  of  re- 
monstrance, of  which  I  shall  transcribe  no  more  than  the  con- 
cluding stanza—^ 

"  But  thou,  whose  powers  can  wield  a  weightier  them% 

"  Why  waste  one  thought  upon  an  empty  dream  ? 
"  Why  all  this  genius,  all  this  art  display'd 
'"  To  paint  a  vf.pour  and  arrest  a  shade  ! 
'"  Can  fear-drawn  shapes  and  visions  of  the  night 
"  Assail  thy  fancy,  or  deceive  thy  sight  ? 
"  Wilt  thou  to  air  built  palaces  resort, 
"  Where  the  sylphs  flutter  and  the  fairies  sport. 
"  No,  let  them  sooth  the  love -enfeebled  brain, 
"  Thy  muse  shall  seize  her  harp  and  strike  a  loftier  strain.*^ 
During  the  time  I  lived  in  this  pleasing  intercourse  with 
the  family  of  these  worthy  brothers,  there  was  an  ingenious 
friend  and  school-fellow  of  theirs  pretty  constantly  resident 
with  them,  of  the  name  of  Arden,  a  young  man  very  much 
to  be  loved  for  the  amenity  of  his  temper  and  the  vivacity  of 
his  parts.    He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  our  dramatic  amuse- 
ments, and  had  an  energy  of  character,  as  well  as  a  fimd  of 
humour,  that  enabled  him  to  give  its  true  force  and  expres- 
sion to  every  part  he  assumed  in  our  private  exhibitions. 
And  here  let  me  not  omit  to  mention  a  near  relation,  and 
once  my  most  dear  friend,  Richard,  son  of  the  Reverend 
Doctor  George  Reynolds,  and  grandson  of  Bishop  Reynolds, 
who  married  the  daughter  of  Bishop  Cumberland.     This 
mild  and  amiable  young  man  had  in  early  life  so  far  attach- 
ed himself  to  the  Earl  of  Sandwich,  as  to  accompany  him  to 
the  Congress  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  but  being  perfectly  indc- 
pent  in  his  fortune,  and  of  an  unambitious  placid  nature,  he 
declined  pursuing  any  further  the  unquiet  track  of  public 
life,  and  sat  down  with  his  family  at  their  house  of  Paxton 
in  Huntingdonshire,  to  the  possession  of  which  he  succeed- 
ed, and  where  he  still  resides.     I  am  here  speaking  of  the 
days  of  my  intimacy  with  this  gentleman,  and  I  look  back 
to  thein  with  none  but  grateful  recollections  :  in  the  course 


RICHARD  CUMBERLANt).  Hb 

ef  tliesc  memoirs  I  shall  have  to  speak  of  other  days,  that 
will  recall  sensations  of  another  sort. 

If  ever  this  once  valued  friend  shall  be  my  reader,  let  me 
appeal  to  his  candour  for  a  fair  interpretation  of  my  feel- 
ings, when  I  cannot  pass  this  period  over  without  recalling 
to  his  memory  and  my  own  the  name  of  his  departed  sister, 
who  merited  and  possessed  my  best  affections  hi  their  purest 
sense.  The  hospitable  welcome  I  always  received  from  the 
parents  of  this  amiable  lady?  and  their  encouraging  polite- 
ness to  me,  might  have  tempted  one  less  respectful  of  her 
comforts,  and  less  sensible  of  her  superior  pretensions,  to 
have  presumed  upon  their  favour  and  made  tender  of  his 
addresses  ;  but  my  precarious  dependency  and  unsettled 
state  of  life,  forbade  such  hopes,  and  I  was  silent.  I  now 
return  to  my  narrative,  in  which  I  am  prepared  to  speak, 
both  of  others  and  myself  no  more  than  I  know,  or  verily 
believe,  to  be  true. 

It  was  about  this  time  I  employed  myself  in  collecting 
materials  from  the  History  of  India  for  the  plan  of  a  poem  in 
heroic  verse,  many  fragments  of  which  I  find  amongst  my 
old  papers,  which  prove  I  had  bestowed  considerable  labour 
on  the  work,  and  made  some  progress.  Whether  I  found 
the  plan  could  not  be  made  to  accord  to  my  idea  of  the  epic, 
or  whether  any  other  project  called  me  ofi*  I  cannot  now 
recollect ;  but  at  that  time  I  had  not  attempted  any  thing 
professedly  for  the  stage.  I  maist,  however,  lament  that  it 
has  lain  by  unlooked  at  for  so  great  a  length  of  time,  as 
there  have  been  intermediate  periods  of  leisure  when  it 
would  have  been  well  worth  my  pains  to  have  taken  it  up. 
It  is  now  too  late,  and  the  only  use  I  can  apply  it  to  is  hum- 
bly to  lay  before  the  public  a  specimen,  faithfully  transcribed 
from  that  part  of  the  poem,  where  the  discoveries  of  the 
Portuguese  are  introduced.  I  might  perhaps  have  selected 
passages  less  faulty,  but  I  give  it  correctly  as  I  find  it,  trust- 
ing that  the  candid  reader  will  make  allowances  for  tiiat  too 
florid  style,  which  juvenile  versifiers  are  so  apt  to  indulge 
themselves  in,  whilst  the  fancy  is  too  prurient  and  the  judg- 
ment not  mature. 

*     *     *     * 

*•  Long  time  had  Afric's  interposing  mound, 

"  Stretching  athwart  the  navigator's  jvay, 
'*  Fenc'dthe  rich  East,  and  sen;  th'  udventrous  bark 
a 


86  MEMOIRS  OF 

"  Despairing  home,  or  whelm'd  her  in  the  waves. 
"  Gama  the  first  on  bold  discovery  bent, 
"  With  prow  still  pointing  to  the  further  pole, 
"  Skirted  Caffraria  till  the  welcome  cape, 
"  Thence  call'd  o^  Hope — ^but  not  to  Asia's  sons — 
"  Spoke  the  long  coast  exhausted  ;  still  'twas  hope, 
"  Not  victory  ;  nature  in  one  effort  foil'd, 
"  Still  kept  the  contest  doubtful,  and  engag'd, 
'^  Rous'd  all  the  elements  to  war.     Meanwhile, 
"  As  once  the  Titans  with  Saturnian  Jove, 
"  So  he  in  happier  hour  and  his  bold  crew 
"  Undaunted  conflict  held  :  Old  Ocean  storm'd, 
"  Loud  thunder  rent  the  air,  the  leagued  winds 
"  Roar'd  in  his  front,  as  if  all  Afric's  Gods 
'*  With  necromantic  spells  had  charm'd  the  storm 
"  To  shake  him  from  his  course — in  vain  ;  for  Fate^ 
"  That  grasp'd  his  helm  with  unrelenting  hand, 
*'  Had  register'd  his  triumph  :  through  the  breach 
•  "  All  Lusitania  pour'd  ;  Arabia  mourn'd, 
''  And  saw  her  spicy  caravans  return 
^^  Shorn  of  their  wealth  ;  the  Adriatic  bride 
"  Like  a  neglected  beauty  pin'd  away  ; 
"  Europe  which  by  her  hand  of  late  receiv'd 
"  India's  rich  fruits,  from  the  deserted  mart 
"  Now  turn'd  aside  and  pluckt  them  as  they  grew. 
"  A  new  found  world  from  out  the  vraves  arose. 
"  Now  Soffala,  and  all  the  swarming  coast 
"  OffruitfulZanguebar,  till  where  it  meets 
*^  The  sultry  line,  pour'd  forth  their  odorous  stores. 
"'  The  thirsty  West  drank  deep  the  luscious  draught, 
"  And  reel'd  with  luxury  :  Emmanuel's  throne 
''  Blaz'd  with  barbaric  gems  ;  aloft  he  sate 
'^  Encanopied  with  gold,  and  circled  round 
*'  With  warriors  and  with  chiefs  in  Eastern  pomp 
^'  Resplendent  with  their  spoils.     Close  in  the  rear 
"  Of  conquest  march'd  the  motley  papal  host, 
"  Monks  of  all  colours,  brotherhoods  and  names  : 
"  Fro\\ming  they  rear'dthe  cross  ;  th*  affrighted  tribes 
"  Look'd  up  aghast,  and  whilst  the  cannon's  mouth 
^*  Thunder'd  obedience,  dropt  th^  unwilling  knee 
"  In  trembling  adoration  of  a  God, 
^^>  Whom,  as  by  nature  tutor'd,  in  his  works 
"^  They  savr,  and  only  in  his  mercy  knew. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  8Z 

"  Rut  creeds,  impos'd  by  terror,  can  ensure 

"  No  fixt  allegiance,  but  are  straight  dismiss'd 

"  From  the  vext  conscience,  when  the  sword  is  sheath *d. 

"  Now  when  the  barrier,  that  so  long  had  stood 
"  'Twixt  the  disparted  nations,  was  no  more, 
*'  Like  fire  once  kindled,  spreading  in  its  covirse, 
^'  Onward  the  mighty  conflagration  roU'd. 
"  As  if  the  Atlantic  and  the  Southern  seas, 
''  Driv'n  by  opposing  winds  and  urg'd  amain 
"  By  fierce  tornadoes,  with  their  cumbrous  weight 
"  Should  on  a  sudden  at  the  narrowing  pass 
*'  Of  Darien  burst  the  continental  chain 
"  And  whelm  together,  so  the  nation  rush'd 
^'  Impetuous  through  the  breach,  where  Gama  forc'd 
*'  His  desperate  passage  ;  terrible  the  shock, 
''  From  Ormus  echoing  to  the  Eastern  isles 
''  Of  Java  and  Sumatra  ;  India  now 
"  From  the  hither  Tropic  to  the  Southern  Cape 
''  Show'd  to  the  setting  sun  a  shore  of  blood  : 
"  In  vain  her  monarchs  from  a  hundred  thrones 
"  Sounded  the  arbitrary  word  for  war  : 
''  In  vain  whole  cataracts  of  dusky  slaves 
"  Pour'donthe  coast  :  earth  trembled  with  the  v/eigl  t; 
"  But  what  can  slaves  I  What  can  the  nerveless  arm, 
"  Shrunk  by  that  soft  emasculating  clime, 
"  What  the  weak  dart  against  the  mailed  breast 
"  Of  Europe's  martial  sons  ?  On  sea,  onshore 
"  Gre^t  Almeed  triumph'd,  and  the  rival  sword, 
"  Of  Albuquerque,  invincible  in  arms, 
"  Wasted  the  nations,  humbling  to  the  yoke 
"  Kings,  whom  submissive  myriads  in  the  dust 
"  Prostrate  ador'd,  and  from  the  solar  blaze 
"  Of  majesty  retreating  veil'd  their  eyes. 

"  As  when  a  roaming  vulture  on  the  wing 
"  From  Mauritania  or  the  cheerless  waste 
"'Of  sandy  Thibet,  by  keen  hunger  prest, 
"  With  eye  quick  glancing  fi^om  his  airy  height 
"  Haply  at  utmost  need  descries  a  fawn, 
"  Or  kid,  disporting  in  some  fruitful  vale, 
'^  Down,  down  at  once  the  greedy  felon  drops 
"  With  wings  close  cow'ring  in  his  hollow  sidcb 
"  Full  on  the  helpless  victim  ;  thence  again 
"  Tow'ringin  air  he  bears  his  luscious  prize, 
"  And  in  his  native  wild  enjoys  the  feast : 


Mop 


'^8  MEBiaiRS  OF 

^'  So  these  forth  issuing  from  the  rocky  shore 

"  Of  distant  Tagus  on  the  quest  for  gain 

'*  In  realms  unknown,  which  feverish  fancy  paints 

"  Glittering  with  gems  and  gold,  range  the  Avide  aea^^ 

"  Till  India's  isthmus,  rising  with  the  sun 

'*  To  their  keen  sight,  her  fertile  bosom  spreads, 

"  Period  and  palm  of  all  their  labours  past  ; 

'^  Whereat  with  avarice  and  ambition  fir'd^ 

'^  Eager  alike  for  plunder  and  for  fame, 

"'  Onward  they  press  to  spring  upon  their  prey  ; 

"  There  every  spoil  obtain'd,  i^hich  greedy  haste 

*'•  By  force  or  fraud  could  ravage  from  the  hands 

"  Of  Nature's  peaceful  sons,  again  they  mount 

'*'  Their  richly  freighted  bark;  she,  while  the  cries 

^^  Of  widov/s  and  of  orphans  rend  the  strand, 

''  Striding  the  billows,  to  the  venal  winds 

•'  Sprcv^.ds  her  broad  vans,  and  flies  before  the  gale. 

"  Here  as  by  sad  necessity  I  tell 
'*  Of  human  woes  to  rend  the  hearer's  heart, 
^'  Truth  be  my  muse,  and  thou,  my  bosom's  star, 
'■'  The  planetary  mistress  of  my  birth, 
*•  Parent  of  all  my  biiss  of  all  my  pain, 
^^  Inspire  me,  gentle  pity  and  attune 
^'  Thy  numbers,  heavenly  cherub,  to  my  strain  ! 
^^  Thou,  too,  for  whom  my  heart  breathes  every  wish, 
'*  That  filial  love  can  form,  fairest  of  isles, 
"  Albion,  atleDd  and  deign  to  hear  a  son, 
*^  Who  for  afiiicted  millions,  prostrate  slaves 
''^  Beneath  oppression's  scourge,  and  waining  fast 
"  By  ghastly  famine  and  destructive  war, 
*'  No  venal  suit  prefers  ;  so  may  thy  fleets, 
^'  Mistress  of  commerce,  link  the  Western  world 
^^  To  thy  maternal  bosom,  chace  the  sun 
*'  Up  to  his  source,  and  in  the  bright  display 
*'  Of  empire  and  the  liberal  search  of  fame 
*'  Belt  the  wide  globe — ^but  mount,  ye  guardian  wavesj. 
*'  Stand  as  a  wall  before  tlie  spoiler's  path  I 
*'  Yc  stars,  your  bright  intelligence  withdraw, 
'^  And  darkness  cover  all,  whom  lust  of  gold, 
''-  Fell  rapine,  and  extortion's  guilty  hope 
•^  Rouse  from  their  native  dust  to  rend  the  thrones 
^*  Of  peaceful  princes,  and  usurp  that  soil, 
""'■  Wi:ere  late  as  humble  traffickers  they  sought 


ftlCHARD  CUMBERLAND.  89 

"  And  found  a  shelter  :  thus  ^vhat  they  obtam'd 

"  By  supplication  they  extend  by  force, 

^<  Till  in  the  Vv'antonness  of  power  they  grasp 

"  Whole  provinces,  where  nnllions  are  their  slaves. 

"  A-h  whither  sliiill  I  turn  to  meet  the  face 

"  Of  love  and  human  kindness  in  this  world, 

"  On  which  1  now  am  ent'ring  ?  Gracious  heaven, 

"  If,  as  I  trust,  thou  hast  bestow'd  a  sense 

"  Of  thy  best  gift  benevolence  on  me, 

"  Oh  visit  me  in  mercy,  and  preserve 

"  That  spark  of  thy  divinity  alive, 

"  Till  time  shall  end  me  !  So  when  all  the  blasts 

"  Of  malice  and  unkindness,  which  my  fate 

"  May  have  in  store,  shall  vent  their  rage  upon  me, 

"  Feeling,  but  still  forgiving,  the  assault, 

*'  I  may  persist  with  patience  to  devote 

*'  My  life,  my  love,  my  labours  to  mankind." 

*     *     * 

The  severest  misfortune  that  could  menace  my  unhappy 
patron,  was  now  hanging  over  him.  The  state  of  Lady 
Halifax's  health  became  daily  more  and  more  alarming ; 
she  seemed  to  be  sinking  under  a  consumptive  and  exhaust- 
ed constitution.  It  was  then  the  custom  for  the  chief  fami- 
lies in  Northamptonshire  to  attend  the  country  races  in  great 
form,  and  the  Lord  Lieutenant  on  that  occasion  made  it  a 
point  to  assemble  his  friends  and  party  in  their  best  equipage 
and  array  to  grace  the  meeting  :  this  was  ever  a  formidable 
task  for  poor  Lady  Halifax,  whose  tender  spirits  and  declin- 
ing health  wxre  ill  suited  to  such  undertakings  ;  but  upon 
the  last  year  of  her  accompanying  her  Lord  to  this  meeting, 
I  found  her  more  than  usually  apprehensive,  and  she  too 
truly  predicted  that  it  would  accelerate  her  death.  I  attend- 
ed upon  her  at  that  meeting,  and  when  I  expressed  my  hopes 
that  she  had  escaped  her  fatigues  without  any  material  in- 
jury, as  I  was  handing  her  to  her  coach  on  the  morning  of 
her  departure,  she  shook  her  head  and  again  repeated  her 
entire  conviction  that  she  should  not  long  survive.  My 
heart  sunk  as  I  took  leave  of  her  under  this  melancholy  im- 
pression :  we  met  no  rnc^e  :  she  languished  for  a  time,  and 
to  the  irreparable  loss  of  her  afflicted  husband  died. 

1-ady  Halifax  was.by  birth  of  humble  rank,  and  not  endovr-- 
ed  by  nature  with  shining  talents  or  sirperioi'x:harmsof  per- 
son.   She  did  not  aim  at  that  display,  wiuch  conoiliates  popu- 

H    2 


^0  MEMOIRS  }0F 

larity,  r.or  affect  those  arts,  Avhich  invite  admiration  ;  with* 
out  any  of  those  brilliant  qiulides,  ^yhici.,  whilst  they  giatify 
a  husband's  vanity,  too  often  endanger  ins  honour  and  his 
peace,  the  virtues  of  her  hc:.rt  and  the  sereiiity  of  her  tem- 
per were  so  happily  adapted loaliiiy  ai*<:l  tranquilize -the  more 
empassioned  character  of  he^  Lord,  that  every  man,  who 
knew  his  nature,  could  nc^-feii"  to-foresee  the  dangers  he 
would  be  exposed  to,"^  whe»  she  wai  no  longer  at  his  side. 
He  had  still  a  true  and  faithful  friend, in  Doctor  Crane,  and  to 
him^  Lady  Halifax  had  been  most  entirely  attached.  He 
merited  all  her  confidence^  aJ^d  sincerely  lamented  her  loss, 
foreseeing,  as  I  had  good  reason  to  know,  the  unhappy  con- 
sequences it  might  lead  to,  for  by  this  time  I  v/as  favoured 
-with  some  tokens  of  his  r^g»rd,  that  could  not  be  mistaken, 
and  though  his  feelings  n^fe  forced  him  into  wann  expres- 
sions, yet  his  heart  v/a^Hj||j|||^  his  friendship  sincere. 
Many  days  passed  before  I^t^HBrnoned  to  pay  my  respects 
to  the  afflicted  .widower,  who  was  represented  to  me  as  be- 
ing almost  frantic  with  his  grief.  I  divided  this  time  be- 
tv»  een  my  own;:r}|o|^e  and  the  house  of  Ecton  :  at  length  I 
was  invited  to  ^fl^ton,  and  the  meeting  was  a  very  painful 
moment  to  us  both. 

We  soon  removed  to  to\vn  for  the  winter  season,  and  there 
whilst  politics  and  public  office  began  to  occupy  his  thoughts 
and  by  degrees  to  wean  him  from  his  sorrows,  I  resumed 
my  solitary  lodgings  in  Mount-street,  where  with  my  old 
Swiss  servant  for  my  caterer  and  cook,  I  lived  in  all  the 
temperance  and  nearly  all  the  retirement  of  a  hermit.  Then 
it  was  that  I  derived  ail  my  resources  in  the  books  I  pos- 
sessed, and  the  talents  God  had  given  me.  I  read  and  wrote 
incessantly,  and  should  have  been  in  absolute  solitude  but 
for  the  kind  visits  of  my  friend  Higgs,  who  not  forge tthig 
-our  late  intimacy  at  college  and  at  school,  nor  disdaining  my 
poor  fare  and  dull  society,  cheered  and  relieved  my  spirits 
with  the  liveliness  and  hilarity  natural  to  him  :  these  are  fa- 
vours I  can  never  forget ;  for  they  supported  me  at  a  time 
when  I  felt  all  the  gloominess  of  my  situation,  and  yet  w^ant- 
ed  energy  to  extricate  myself  from  it,  and  renounce  those 
expectations,  to  which  I  had  devoted  so  much  time  in  profit- 
less dependance.  I  lived  indeed  upon  the  narrowest  system 
I  could  adopt,  but  nevertheless  I  could  not  make  the  income 
jef  my  feiiov/ship  bear  me  through  without  the  generous  as- 
sisUuicc  of  my  futher,  and  that  reflection  was  the  only  paiii- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  51 

fill  concomitant  of  a  disappointment,  that  I  sliould  not  in  my 
own  particular  else  have  wasted  a  regret  ipon. 

In  the  mean  time  the  long  and  irksome  residence  in  town, 
which  my  attendance  upon  Lord  Halifax  entdied  upon  me, 
and  the  pdnful  separation  from  my  family  became  almost  in- 
supportable, and  whilst  I  was  meditating  a  retreat,  my  good 
father,  who  participated  with  me  and  his  whole  family  in 
these  sensations,  projected  and  concluded  an  exchange  for 
his  living  of  StcUiwick  with  the  Reverend  Mr.Samuel  Knight, 
and  with  permission  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  took  the  vicar- 
age of  Fulham  as  an  equivalent,  and  thereby  opened  to  m.e 
the  happy  prospect  of  an  easier  access  to  those  friends  so 
justly  valued  and  so  truly  dear. 

In  point  of  income  the  two  livings  were  as  nearly  equal  as 
could  well  be,  therefore  no  pecuniary  compensation  passed 
between  the  contracting  parties  ;  but  the  comforts  of  tran- 
<]uillity  in  point  of  duty,  or  of  conveniencies  in  respect  of  lo- 
cality, were  all  in  favour  of  Mr.  Knight,  and  nothing  could 
have  prevailed  with  my  father  for  leaving  those,  v^^hom  he  had 
-SO  long  loved  and  cherished  as  his  flock,  but  the  generous 
motive  of  giving  me  an  asylum  in  the  bosoms  of  my  fam- 
ily. With  this  kind  and  benevolent  object  in  his  view,  he 
submitted  to  the  pain  of  tearing  himself  from  his  connexions, 
and  amidst  the  lamentations  of  his  neighbours  and  parishion- 
ers came  up  to  Fulham  to  take  upon  himself  the  charge  of  a 
great  suburbane  parish,  and  quitted  Stanwick,  where  he  had 
resided  for  the  space  of  thirty  years  in  peace,  beloved  by  all 
around  him. 

He  found  a  tolerably  good  parsonage  house  at  Fulham,  in 
which,  with  my  mother  and  my  sisters,  he  established  him- 
self with  as  much  content  as  could  be  looked  for.  Where- 
ever  he  went  the  odour  of  his  good  name,  and  of  course  his 
popularity,  was  sure  to  follow  him  ;  but  the  task  of  preach- 
ing to  a  large  congregation  after  being  so  long  familiarized 
to  the  service  of  his  little  church  at  Stanwick,  oppressed  his 
modest  mind,  and  though  his  person,  matter  and  manner 
were  such  as  always  left  favourable  impressions  on  his 
hearers,  yet  it  was  evident  to  us  v/ho  knew  him  and  belong- 
ed to  him,  that  he  suffered  by  his  exertions. 

Bishop  Sherlock  was  yet  living,  and  resided  in  the  palace, 
but  in  the  last  stage  of  bodily  decay.  The  ruins  of  that  lu- 
minous and  powerful  mind  were  still  venerable,  though  his 
speech  was  almost  unintelligible,  and  his  features  cruelly 


92  MEMOIRS  OF 

disarranged  and  distorted  by  the  palsey  ;  still  his  gcnius.was 
alive,  and  his  judgment  discriminative,  for  it  was  in  this  la- 
mentable state  that  he  performed  the  task  of  selecting  ser- 
mons for  the  last  volume  he  committed  to  the  press,  and 
his  high  reputation  was  in  no  respect  lowered  by  the  selec- 
tion. I  had  occasionally  the  honour  of  being  permitted  to 
visit  that  great  man  in  comj>any  with  my  father,  to  whom 
he  was  uniformly  kind  and  gracious,  and  in  token  of  his  fa- 
vour bestowed  on  him  a  small  Prebend  in  the  church  of  St. 
Paul,  the  only  one  that  became  vacant  within  his  time. 

Mrs.  Sherlock  was  a  truly  respectable  woman,  and  my 
mother  enjoyed  much  of  her  society  till  the  bishop's  death 
brought  a  successor  in  his  place. 

In  the  adjoining  parish  of  Hammersmith  lived  Mr.  Dod- 
ington,  at  a  splendid  villa,  which  by  the  rule  of  contraries 
he  was  pleased  to  call  La  Trappe,  and  his  inmates  and  fa- 
miliars the  monks  of  the  convent ;  these  were  Mr.  Wind- 
ham his  relation,  whom  he  made  his  heir,  Sir  William  Bre- 
ton, privy  purse  to  the  king,  and  Doctor  Thompson,  a  phy- 
sician out  of  practice  ;  these  gentlemen  formed  a  very  curi- 
ous society  of  very  opposite  characters  ;  in  short  it  was  a  trio 
consisting  of  a  misanthrope,  a  courtier  and  a  quack.  Mr.  Glo- 
ver, the  author  of  Leonidas,  was  occasionally  a  visitor,  but 
not  an  inmate  as  those  above-mentioned.  How  a  man  of 
Dodington's  sort  came  to  single  out  men  of  their  sort  (with 
the  exception  of  Mr.  Glover)  is  hard  to  say,  but  though  his 
instruments  were  never  in  unison,  he  managed  to  make  music 
out  of  them  all.  He  could  make  and  find  amusement  in 
contrasting  the  sullenness  of  a  Grurnbetonian  with  the  egre- 
gious vanity  and  self-conceit  of  an  antiquated  coxcomb,  and 
as  for  the  Doctor  he  was  a  juck-pudding  ready  to  his  hand 
at  any  time.  He  was  understood  to  be  Dodington's  body- 
physician,  but  I  believe  he  cared  very  little  about  his  patient's 
health,  and  his  patient  cared  still  less  about  his  prescriptions  ; 
and  when  in  his  capacity  of  superintendant  of  his  patron's 
dietetics,  he  cried  out  one  morning  at  breakfast  to  have  the 
muffins  taken  away,  Dodington  aptly  enough  cried  out  at  the 
same  time  to  the  servant  to  take  away  the  ragamuffin^  and 
truth  to  say  a  more  dirty  animal  than  poor  Thompson  was 
never  seen  on  the  outside  of  a  pig  stye  ;  yet  he  had  the  plea 
of  poverty  and  no  passion  for  cold  water. 

It  is  about  a  short  and  pleasant  mile  from  this  villa  to  the 
parsonage  house  cf  Fuiham,  and  Mr.  Dodington  having  visit* 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  93 

e<lus  with  great  politeness,  I  became  a  frequent  guest  at  La 
Trappe?  and  passed  a  good  deal  of  my  time  with  him  there,  in 
London  also,  and  occasionally  in  Dorsetshire.  He  was  cer- 
tioinly  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  men  of  his  time,  and  as 
I  had  opportunities  of  contemplating  his  character  in  all  its 
various  points  of  view,  I  trust  my  readers  will  not  regret  that 
I  have  devoted  some  pages  to  the  further  delineation  of  it. 

I  have  before  observed  that  the  nature  of  my  business  as 
private  secretary  to  Lord  Halifax  was  by  no  means  such  as 
to  employ  any  great  portion  of  my  time,  and  of  course  I 
could  devote  many  hours  to  my  own  private  pursuits  with- 
out neglecting  those  attendances,  which  were  due  to  my 
principal.  Lord  Halifax  had  also  removed  his  abode  to 
Downing-street,  having  quitted  his  house  in  Grosvenor- 
Square  upon  the  decease  of  his  lady,  so  that  I  rarely  found  it 
necessary  to  sleep  in  town,  and  could  divide  the  rest  of  my 
time  between  Fulham  and  La  Trappe.  It  w^as  likewise  en- 
tirely correspondent  with  Lord  Halifax's  wishes  that  I  should 
cultivate  my  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Dodington,  with  whom 
he  not  only  lived  upon  intimate  terms  as  a  friend,  but  was- 
now  in  tniin  to  form,  as  it  seemed,  some  opposition  con- 
nexions ;  for  at  this  time  it  happened  that  upon  a  breach 
•with  the  duke  of  Newxastle,  he  threw  up  his  office  of  First 
Lord  of  Trade  and  Plantations,  and  detached  himself  from 
administration.  This  took  place  towards  the  latter  end  of 
the  late  king's  reign,  and  the  ground  of  the  measure  was  a 
breach  of  promise  on  the  part  of  the  Duke  to  give  him  the 
Seals  and  a  Seat  in  the  Cabinet  as  Secretary  of  State  for  the 
Colonies. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  being  now  an  ex-secretary  of 
an  ex -statesman,  I  went  to  Eastbury,  the  seat  of  Mr.  Dod- 
ington, in  Dorsetshire,  and  passed  the  whole  time  of  his 
stay  in  that  place.  Lord  Halifax  with  his  brother-in-law, 
Colonel  Johnstone,  of  the  Blues,  paid  a  visit  there,  and  the 
Countess  Dowager  of  Stafford  and  old  Lady  Hervey  %vcre 
resident  with  us  the  whole  time.  Our  splendid  host  was  ex- 
celled by  no  man  in  doing  the  honours  of  his  house  and  table  ; 
to  the  ladies  he  had  all  the  courtly  and  profound  devotion  of 
a  Spaniard,  with  the  ease  and  gaiety  of  a  Frenchman  towards 
the  men.  His  mansion  was  magnificent,  massy,  and  stretch^ 
ing  out  to  a  great  extent  of  front,  with  an  enormous  portico 
ot  Doric  columns,  ascended  by  a  stately  flight  of  steps ; 
there  were' turrets  and  wings  tliat  went  I  know  not  whitlier, 


94  MEMOIRS  OF 

though  now  they  are  levelled  with  the  ground,  and  gone  to 
more  ignoble  uses  :  Vanbrugh,  who  constructed  this  superb 
edifice,  seemed  to  have  had  the  plan  of  Blenheim  in  his 
thoughts,  and  the  interior  was  as  proud  and  splendid  as  the 
exterior  was  bold  and  imposing.  A]l  this  was  exactly  in 
unison  with  the  taste  of  its  magnificent  owner,  who  had  gilt 
fend  furnished  the  apartments  with  a  profusion  of  finery,  that 
kept  no  terms  with  simplicity,  and  not  always  with  elegance 
or  harmony  of  style.  Whatever  Mr.  Dodington's  revenue 
then  was,  he  had  the  happy  art  of  managing  it  with  that  re- 
gularity and  (Economy,  that  I  believe  he  made  more  display 
at  less  cost,  than  any  man  in  the  kingdom  but  himself  could 
have  done.  His  town  house  in  Pall-Mail,  Lis  villa  in  Ham- 
mersmith, and  the  mansion  above  described,  vfere  such  esta- 
blishments as  few  nobles  in  the  nation  were  possessed  of. 
In  either  of  these  he  was  not  to  be  approached  but  through  a 
suite  of  apartments,  and  rarely  seated  but  under  painted  ceil- 
ings and  gilt  entablatures.  In  his  villa  you  were  conducted 
through  two  rows  of  antique  marble  statues  ranged  in  a  gal- 
lery floored  with  the  rarest  marbles,  and  enriched  with 
columns  of  granite  and  lapis  lazuli ;  his  saloon  was  hung  with 
the  finest  Gobelin  tapestry,  and  he  slept  in  a  bed  encano- 
pied  with  peacock's  feathers  in  the  style  of  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague. When  he  passed  from  Pall-Mali  to  La  Trappe  it 
was  always  in  a  coach,  which  I  could  suspect  had  been  his 
ambassadorial  equipage  at  Madrid,  drawn  by  six  fat  unwiel- 
dy black  horses,  short  docked  and  of  colossal  dignity  :  nei- 
ther was  he  less  characteristic  in  apparel  than  in  equipage  ; 
he  had  a  wardrobe  loaded  with  rich  and  flaring  suits,  each  in 
itself  a  load  to  the  wearer,  and  of  these  I  have  no  doubt  but 
many  were  coeval  with  his  embassy  above  mentioned,  and 
every  birth-day  had  added  to  the  stock.  In  doing  this  he  so 
contrived  as  never  to  put  his  old  dresses  out  of  countenance 
by  any  variations  in  the  fashion  of  the  new ;  in  the  mean 
time  his  bulk  and  corpulency  gave  full  display  to  a  vast  ex- 
panse and  profusion  of  brocade  and  embroidery,  and  this, 
when  set  off*  with  an  enormous  tie-perriwig  and  deep  laced 
ruffles,  gave  the  picture  of  an  ancient  courtier  in  his  gala  ha- 
bit, orQuin  in  his  stage  dress;  nevertheless  it  must  be  confes- 
sed this  style,  though  out  of  date,  was  not  out  of  character, 
but  harmonized  so  well  with  the  person  of  the  wearer,  that 
I  remember  when  he  made  his  first  speech  in  the  House  of 
Peers,  as  Lord  Melcombe,  all  the  flashes  of  his  wit,  all  the 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  9kS 

studied  phrases  and  well-turned  periods  of  his  rhetoric  lost 
their  effect,  simply  because  the  orator  had  laid  aside  his  ma- 
jesterial  tie,  and  put  on  a  modern  bag  wig,  which  was  as 
much  out  of  costume  upon  the  broad  expanse  of  his  shoul- 
ders, as  a  cue  \vould  have  been  upon  the  robes  of  the  Lord 
Chief  Justice. 

Having  thus  dilated  more  than  perhaps  I  should  have 
done,  upon  this  distinguished  person's  passion  for  magnifi- 
cence and  display,  when  I  proceed  to  inquire  into  those 
principles  of  good  taste  which  should  naturally  have  been 
the  accompaniments  and  directors  of  that  magnificence,  I 
fear  I  must  be  compelled  by  truth  to  admit  that  in  these  he 
was  deficient.  Of  pictures  he  seemed  to  take  his  estimate 
only  by  their  cost ;  in  fact  he  was  not  possessed  of  any  ;  but  I 
recollect  his  saying  to  me  one  day  in  his  great  saloon  at  East- 
bury,  that  if  he  had  half  a  score  pictures  of  a  thousand  pounds 
apiece,  he  would  gladly  decorate  his  walls  with  them,  in 
place  of  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  had  stuck  up  immense 
patches  of  gilt  leather  shaped  into  bugle  horns,  upon  hang- 
ings of  rich  crimson  velvet,  and  round  his  state  bed  he  dis- 
played a  carpeting  of  gold  and  silver  embroidery,  which  too 
glaringly  betrayed  its  derivation  from  coat,  waistcoat  and 
breeches,  by  the  testimony  of  pockets,  button-holes  and 
loops,  with  other  equally  incontrovertible  witnesses,  sub- 
poena'd  from  the  tailor's  shopboard.  When  he  paid  his  couit 
at  St.  James's  to  the  present  queen  upon  her  nuptials,  he  ap- 
proached to  kiss  her  hand  decked  in  an  embroidered  suit  of 
silk  with  lilac  waistcoat  and  breeches,  the  latter  of  which,  in 
the  act  of  kneeling  down,  forgot  their  duty,  and  broke  loose 
from  their  moorings  in  a  very  indecorous  and  uncourtly 
manner. 

In  the  higher  provinces  of  taste  we  may  contemplate  his 
character  vvith  more  pleasure,  for  he  had  an  ornamented 
fancy  and  a  brilliant  wit.  He  was  an  elegant  Latin  classic, 
and  well  versed  in  history  ancient  and  modern.  His  favourite 
prose  writer  was  Tacitus,  and  I  scarce  ever  surprised  him 
in  his  hours  of  reading  without  finding  that  author  upon  his 
table  before  him.  He  understood  him  well,  and  descanted 
upon  him  very  agreeably  and  with  much  critical  acumen, 
Mr.  Dodington  was  in  nothing  more  remarkable  than  in 
ready  perspicuity  and  clear  discernment  of  a  subject  thrown 
before  him  on  a  sudden  ;  take  his  first  tlioughts  then,  and 
he  would  charm  you  j   give  him  time  to  ponder  and  refinp, 


96  MEMOIRS  OF 

you  would  perceive  the  spirit  of  his  sentiments  and  the  \u 
gour  of  his  genius  evaporate  by  the  process  ;  for  though  his 
first  view  of  the  question  would  be  a  y/ide  one  and  clear 
withal,  when  he  came  to  exercise  the  subtlety  of  his  disqui- 
sitorial  powers  upon  it,  he  would  so  ingeniously  dissect  and-- 
break  it  into  fractions,  that  as  an  object,  when  looked  upon 
too  mtently  for  a  length  of  time,  grows  misty  and  confused, 
so  would  the  question  under  his  discussion,  when  the  humour 
took  him  to  be  hyper-critical.  Hence  it  was  that  his  im- 
promptues  in  parliament  were  generally  more  admired  than 
his  studied  speeches,  and  his  first  suggestions  in  the  councils 
of  his  party  better  attended  to  than  his  prepared  opinions. 

Being  a  man  of  humble  birch,  he  seemed  to  have  an  innate 
respect  for  titles,  and  none  bowed  with  more  devotion  to  the 
robes  and  fasces  of  high  rank  and  office.  He  was  decidedly 
aristocratic  :  he  paid  his  court  to  Vv^alpoie  in. panegyric 
poems,  apologizing  for  his  presumption  by  reminding  him, 
that  it  was  better  to  be  pelted  with  roses  than  with  rotten 
eggs  :  to  Chester (ieid,  to  Winitington,  Pulteney,  Fox  and 
the  luminaries  of  his  early  time  he  offered  up  tiie  oblations 
of  his  genius,  and  incensed  them  with  all  the  odours  of  his 
wit:  in  his  latter  days,  and  wit] -in  the  period  of  my  acquaint- 
ance with  him,  the  Earl  of  Bute  in  the  plentitude  of  his  pow- 
er was  the  god  of  his  idolatry.  That  noble  Lord  v/as  him- 
self too  much  a  manor  letters  and  a  patron  of  the  sciences  to 
overlook  a  witty  head,  that  bowed  so  low,  he  accordingly 
put  a  coronet  upon  it,  which,  like  the  barren  sceptre  in  the 
hand  of  Macbeth,  merely  served  as  a  ticket  for  tlie  corona- 
tion procession,  and  having  nothing  else  to  leave  to  poste- 
rity in  memory  of  its  owner,  left  its  mark  upon  the  lid  of  his 
coffin. 

During  my  stay  at  Eastbury,  v/e  were  visited  by  the  late 
Mr.  Henry  Fox  and  Mr.  Alderman  Beckford  ;  the  solid 
,  good  sense  of  the  former,  and  the  dashing  loquacity  of  the 
latter,  formed  a  striking  contrast  between  the  characters  of 
those  gentlemen.  To  Mr.  Fox  our  host  paid  all  that  court- 
ly homage,  which  he  so  well  knew  how  to  time  and  where 
to  apply  ;  to  Beckford  he  did  not  observe  the  same  atten- 
tions, but  in  the  happiest  flow  of  his  raillery  and  wit  combat- 
ed this  intrepid  talker  with  admirable  effect.  It  was  an  in- 
terlude truly  comic  and  amusing.  Beckford  loud,  voluble, 
self-sufficient  and  galled  by  hits,  which  he  could  not  parry 
.«.nd  probably  did  not  expect,  laid  hinxseif  more  and  more 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  97 

open  ill  the  vehemence  of  his  argument ;  Dodington,  lolling 
in  his  chair  in  perfect  apathy  and  self-command,  dosing  and 
even  snoring  at  intervals  in  his  lethargic  way,  broke  out 
every  now  and  then  into  such  gleams  and  flashes  of  wit  and 
irony,  as  by  the  contrast  of  his  phlegm  with  the  other's  im- 
petuosity, made  his  humour  irresistable,  and  set  the  table 
in  a  roar.  He  was  here  upon  his  very  strongest  ground,  for 
no  man  was  better  calculated  to  exemplify  hov/  true  the  ob- 
servation is 

Ridictilum  acri 
Fortius  ac  melius^^ 

At  the  same  time  he  had  his  serious  hours  and  graver  to- 
pics, which  he  would  handle  with  all  due  solemnity  of 
thought  and  language,  and  these  were  to  me  some  of  the 
most  pleasing  hours  I  have  passed  with  him,  for  he  could 
keep  close  to  his  point,  if  he  would,  and  could  be  not  less 
argumentative  than  he  was  eloquent,  when  the  question  was 
t)f  magnitude  enough  to  interest  him.  It  is  with  singular 
satisfaction  I  can  truly  say  that  I  never  knev/  him  flippant 
upon  sacred  subjects.  He  was,  however,  generally  courted 
and  admired  as  a  gay  companion  rather  than  as  a  grave  one. 

I  have  said  that  the  dowager  Ladies  Stafford  and  Herve}* 
made  part  of  our  domestic  society,  and  as  the  trivial  amuse- 
ment of  cards  was  never  resorted  to  in  Mr.  Dodington's 
house,  it  was  his  custom  in  the  evenmgs  to  entertain  his 
company  with  reading,  and  in  this  art  he  excelled  ;  his  se- 
lections, however,  were  curious,  for  he  treated  these  ladies 
with  the  whole  of  Fielding's  Jonathan  Wild^  in  which  he 
certainly  consulted  his  own  turn  for  irony  rather  than  theirs 
for  elegance,  but  he  set  it  off  with  much  humour  after  his 
manner,  and  they  were  polite  enough  to  be  pleased,  or  at 
least  to  appear  as  if  they  were. 

His  readings  from  Shakspeare  were  altogether  as  whim- 
sical, for  he  chose  his  passages  only  where  buffoonery  v/as 
the  character  of  the  scene  ;  one  of  these  I  remember  was 
that  of  the  clown,  who  brings  the  asp  to  Cleopatra.  He 
had,  however,  a  manuscript  copy  of  Glover's  Medea,  which 
he  gave  us  con  amove ^  for  he  was  extremely  warm  in  his 
praises  of  that  classical  drama,  which  Mrs.  Yates  after- 
wards brought  upon  the  stage,  and  played  it  Vv'ith  her  ac- 
customed excellence  ;  he  did  me  also  the  honour  to  devote 
an  evening  to  the  reading  of  some  lines,  which  I  had  hastily 
wiitten  to  tiie  amount  of  about  four  hundred,  partly  compli- 

I 


98  MEMOIRS  OF 

mentary  to  him  as  my  host,  and  in  part  consolatory  to  Lord 
Halitax  upon  the  event  of  his  retiring  from  public  office  ; 
they  flattered  the  politics  then  in  favour  with  Mr.  Doding- 
ton,  and  coincided  with  his  wishes,  for  detaching  Lord  Hali- 
fax from  the  administration  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle.  I 
was  not  present,  as  may  well  be  conceived,  at  this  reading, 
but  I  confess  I  sate  listening  in  the  next  room,  and  was  not 
a  little  gratified  by  what  I  overheard.  Of  this  manuscript 
I  have  long  since  destroyed  the  only  copy  that  I  had,  and  if 
I  had  it  now  in  my  hands  it  would  be  only  to  consign  it  to 
the  flames,  for  it  was  of  that  occasional  class  of  poems  for 
the  day,  which  have  no  claim  upon  posterity,  and  in  such  I 
have  not  been  ambitious  to  concern  myself :  it  served  the 
purpose  however  and  amused  the  moment  ;  it  was  also  the 
tribute  of  my  might  to  the  lares  of  that  mansion,  where  the 
Muse  of  Young  had  dictated  his  tragedy  of  The  Revenge,  and 
which  the  genious  of  Voltaire  had  honoured  v/ith  a  visit :  here 
Glover  had  courted  inspiration,  and  Thompson  caught  it  : 
Dodington  also  himself  had  a  lyre,  but  he  had  hung  it  up, 
and  it  was  never  very  high  sounding  ;  yet  he  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  admirer  of  the  Muse.  He  wrote 
small  poems  with  great  pains,  and  elaborate  letters  with 
much  terseness  of  style,  and  some  quaintness  of  expression  : 
I  have  seen  him  refer  to  a  volume  of  his  own  verses  in  ma- 
nuscript, but  he  was  very  shy,  ana  I  never  had  the  perusal 
of  it.  I  vv^as  rather  better  acquainted  with  his  diary ^  v/hich 
since  his  death  has  been  published,  ai:id  I  well  remeiTiber  the 
temporary  disgust  he  seemed  to  take,  when  upon  his  asking 
what  I  would  do  with  it,  should  Le  bequeath  it  to  my  discre- 
tion, I  instantly  replied,  that  I  would  destroy  it.  There  was 
a  third,  which  I  more  coveted  a  sight  of  than  either  of  the 
above,  as  it  contained  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  anecdotes, 
repartees,  gc>€d  sayings  and  humorous  incidents,  of  which 
he  was  part  author  and  part  compiler,  and  out  of  wiiich  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  refreshing  his  memory,  when  he  prepared 
himself  to  expect  certain  men  of  wit  and  pleasantly  either 
at  his  own  house  or  elsewhere.  Upon  this  practice,  which 
he  did  not  affect  to  conceal,  he  observed  to  me  one  day,  that 
it  v/as  a  compliment  he  paid  to  society,  vrhen  he  submitted 
to  steal  weapons  out  of  his  own  armoury  for  their  entertain- 
ment, and  ingeniously  added,  that  although  his  memory  w^ 
not  in  general  so  correct  as  it  had  been,  yet  he  trusted  it 
would  save  him  from  the  disgrace  of  repeating  the  same 


RICHARD  CUiNIBERLAND.  99 

story  to  the  same  hearers,  or  foisting  it  into  conversation  in 
the  wrong  place  or  out  of  time.  No  man  had  fewer  over- 
sights of  that  sort  to  answer  for,  and  fewer  still  v/ere  the  mea 
whose  social  talents  could  be  compared  with  those  of  Mr. 
Dodington. 

Upon  my  return  out  of  Dorsetshire,  I  was  invited  by  my 
friends  at  Trinity  College  to  come  andoffer  myself  as  a  can- 
didate for  the  Lay-fellowship  then  vacant  by  the  death  of 
Mr.  Titley  the  Danish  envoy.  There  are  but  two  fellow- 
ships of  this  description,  and  there  were  several  solicitors 
for  an  exemption  so  desirable,  but  the  unabated  kindness  of 
the  master  and  seniors  patronized  my  suit,  and  honoured 
me  with  that  last  and  most  distinguished  mark  of  their  fa- 
vour and  protection.  I  did  not  hold  it  long,  for  Providence 
had  a  blessing  in  store  for  me,  which  was  an  effectual  dis- 
qualification from  holding  any  honours  on  the  terms  of  ce- 
libacy. 

About  this  time  I  wrote  my  first  Irgitimate  drama  in  five 
acts,  and  entitled  it  The  Banishment  of  Cicero.  I  vras  led  to 
this  by  the  perusal  of  Middleton's  account  of  his  life,  which 
afforded  me  much  entertainment.  As  the  hero  of  a  drama 
I  was  not  happy  in  my  choice  of  Cicero,  and  banishment  is 
a  tame  incident  to  depend  upon  for  the  interest  and  catas- 
trophe of  a  tragic  plot.  I  knew  that  his  philosophy  had  de- 
serted him  on  this  occasion,  and  that  I  could  find  no  feature 
of  Coriolanus  in  the  character  of  my  exile,  but  as  I  began  it 
without  any  view  of  offering  it  to  the  stage,  as  long  as  I  found 
amusement  I  continued  to  write.  As  a  classical  composi- 
tion, which  tells  its  story  in  fair  language,  and  has  stood  the 
test  of  the  press  both  in  England  and  Irelan-;]  with  the  appro- 
bation of  some,  who  were  most  competent  to  decide  upon  it, 
I  may  venture  to  say  it  was  creditable  to  its  author  as  a  first 
attempt.  It  has  been  long  out  of  print,  and  when  after  a 
period  of  more  than  forty  intermediate  years  1  read  it  (as  I 
have  now  been  doing)  with  all  the  impartiality  in  my  power, 
I  certainly  can  discover  inaccuracies  in  the  diction  here  and 
there,  and  in  the  plot  an  absolute  inaptitude  to  scenic  exhibi- 
tion, yet  I  think  I  may  presume  to  say,  that  as  a  dramatic 
poem  for  the  closet  it  will  bear  examination,  though  I  cannot 
expect  that  any  of  its  readers  at  this  time  would  pass  so  fa- 
vourable a  judgment  upon  it  as  I  was  honoured  with  by  Pri- 
mate Stone  and  Bishop  Warburton,  from  the  latter  of  v*  horn 
I  received  a  letter,  which  I  have  preserved,  and  which  I  can- 


100  MEMOIRS  OF 

not  withstand  the  temptation  of  inserting,  though  I  am 
thoroughly  conscious  it  bestows  praises  far  above  the  merits 
of  my  humble  work— - 

To  Richard  Cumberland^   Esq. 

Grosvenor-Square,  May  15,  1757. 
Dear  Sir, 

Let  me  thank  you  for  the  sight  of  a  very  fine  dramatic 
Poem.  It  is.  (like  Mr.  Mason's)  much  too  good  for  a  pros- 
titute stage.  Yesterday  I  received  a  letter  from  the  Prim- 
ate. He  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  Bath  for  Ireland  :  so 
that  my  letter  got  to  him  just  in  time — It  gives  me  great 
satisfaction,  says  he,  that  my  opinion  of  Bishop  Cumber- 
land's grandson  agrees  with  yours,  &c. 
I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

Dear  Sir,  your  very  faithful 

And  assured  humble  servant, 

W.  Gloucester. 

It  is  a  singular  circumstance,  though  perhaps  not  a  fa- 
vorable one,  that  in  the  dramatis  personam  of  this  play  there  is 
not  one  auxiliary  character  ;  they  are  all  principals,  and  such 
in  respect  of  consequence  as  few  authors  ever  brought  toge- 
ther in  one  point  of  view,  for  they  consist  of  the  two  Con- 
suls, L.  Cjilphurnius  Piso  and  Aulus  Gabinius,  the  Tribune  P. 
Clodius,  Cicero  and  Pomponius  Atticus,  Caius  Piso  Frugi, 
Terentiaand  Tuliia,  wife  and  daughter  of  Cicero,  and  Clodia 
sister  of  the  Tribune,  without  one  speaking  attendant  or  in- 
terloper througi  -.ut  the  piece,  except  a  very  few  words  from 
one  Appollodorus. 

To  give  display  to  characters  like  these  the  bounds  of  any 
single  drama  v/culd  hardly  serve,  and  of  course  the  arrange- 
ment was  so  far  injudicious  ;  yet  the  author,  as  if  he  had  not 
enough  on  his  hands,  goes  aside  to  speak  of  Catoin  the  scene 
betwixt  Gabinius  and  Clodius— 

«  Gab. — Cato  is  still  severe,  is  still  himself: 

"  Rough  and  unshaken  in  his  squalid  garb, 
"  He  told  us  he  had  long  in  anguish  mourned, 
*'  Not  in  a  private  but  the  public  cause, 
'^  Not  for  the  v/rong  of  one,  but  wrong  of  alK 
^^  Of  Liberty,  of  Virtue  and  of  Pvome, 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  iOl 

"  Clod, — No  more  :  I  sleep  o*er  Gate's  clro\v3y  theme. 
"  He  is  the  senate's  drone,  and  dreams  of  liberty, 
"  When  Rome's  vast  empire  is  set  up  to  sale, 
•*  And  portioned  out  to  each  ambitious  bidder 
"  In  marketable  lots " 

In  the  further  progress  of  the  same  scene  Pompey  is  men- 
tioned, and  Calphurnius  Piso  introduced  in  the  foilo^vinji; 
terms— 

<^   Gab, Oh  !  who  shall  attempt  to  read 

"  In  Pompey's  face  the  movements  of  his  heart  ? 

"  The  same  calm  artificial  look  of  state, 

"  His  half-cloe'd  eyes  in  self-attention  wrapt, 

"  Serve  him  alike  to  mask  unseemly  joy, 

"  Or  hide  the  pangs  of  envy  and  revenge. 

"  Clod, — See,  yonder  your  old  colleague  Piso  comes  ! 
"  But  name  hypocrisy  and  he  appears. 
^^  How  like  his  grandsire's  monument  he  looks  I 
"  He  wears  the  dress  of  holy  Numa's  days, 
"  The  brow  and  beard  of  Zeno  :  trace  him  home, 
**  You'll  find  his  house  the  school  of  vice  and  lust, 
"  The  foulest  sink  of  Epicurus'  sty, 
"  And  him  the  rankest  swine  of  all  the  herd." 

I  find  the  two  first  actS  are  wound  up  with  some  couplets 
in  rhyme  after  the  manner  of  the  middle  age.  It  will  I  hope 
be  pardonable  if  I  here  insert  the  lines,  with  which  Clodiua 
concludes  the  first  act — ► 

"  When  flaming  comets  vex  our  frighted  sphere^ 
"  Though  now  the  nations  melt  with  awful  fear, 
"  From  the  dread  omen  fatal  ill  presage, 
"  Dire  plague  and  famine  and  war's  wasting  rage  ; 
"  In  time  som.e  brighter  genius  may  arise, 
"  And  banish  signs  and  omens  from  the  skies, 
"  Expound  the  comet's  nature  and  its  cause, 
"  Assign  its  periods  and  prescribe  its  laws, 
"  Whilst  man  grown  wise,  with  his  discoveries  fraughtj. 
"  Shall  w^ondjer  how  he  needed  to  be  taught.'* 

I  shall  only  add  that  the  dialogue  between  Cicero  and  At- 
ticus  in  the  third  act  seems  in  point  of  poetry  one  of  the  hap- 


102        ^  I^fEMOIRS  OF 

piest  efforts  of  its  author:  in  short,  although  this  drama  has^ 
not  all  the  finishing  of  a  veteran  artist,  yet  in  parts  it  has  a 
warmth  of  coloring  and  a  strength  of  expression,which  might 
induce  a  candid  reader  to  augur  not  unfavourably  of  the  no^ 
vice  who  composed  it. 

It  is  here  I  begin  more  particularly  to  feel  the  weight  of 
those  difficulties^  which  at  my  outset  I  too  rashly  announced 
myself  prepared  to  meet.  When  I  review  that  I  have  been 
saying  about  this  my  first  drama,  and  recollect  what  num- 
bers are  behind,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  shrink  back  from 
the  task  to  wnich  I  am  committed.  If  indeed  the  candour 
and  liberality  of  my  readers  will  allow  me  to  step  out  of  my- 
self, (if  I  may  so  term  it)  whilst  I  am  speaking  of  myself,  I 
iiave  littie  to  fear  ;  but  if  I  must  be  tied  down  to  my  individu- 
ality, and  not  allowed  my  fair  opinion  without  incurring  the 
charge  of  self-conceit,  I  am  in  a  most  unenviable  situation, 
and  must  either  abandon  my  undertaking,  or  cibide  by  the 
conditions  of  it  with  that  fortitude  I  can  muster.  If,  v/hen  I 
am  professedly  the  recorder  of  my  own  writings,  I  am  to 
record  nothing  in  them  or  about  them  but  their  simple  titles 
and  the  order  in  v/hich  they  were  vfritten,  I  give  the  reader 
nothing  more  than  a  catalogue,  which  any  magazine  might 
furnish,  or  the  prompter's  register  as  well  supply  ;  if  on  the 
contrary  I  proceed  to  fulfil  the  real  purposes  of  biographer 
and  critic,  ought  I  not  to  act  as  honestly  and  conscientiously 
in  my  own  case,  as  I  would  in  the  instance  of  another  per- 
son ?  I  think  I  ought :  it  is  whed  the  title  of  my  book  pro- 
fesses ;  how  I  am  to  execute  it  I  do  not  know,  and  how  my 
best  endeavours  may  be  received  I  can  form  no  guess.  In 
the  mean  time  I  will  strive  to  arm  myself  with  an  humble 
but  honest  mind,  resolving,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  not  to  speak 
partially  of  my  works  because  they  are  my  own,  nor  slig^it- 
ingly  against  my  conscience  from  appr-dhension  that  readers 
rnay  be  found  to  differ  from  me,  where  my  thoughts  may 
seem  more  favourable  than  theirs.  The  latter  of  these  con- 
sequences may  perhaps  frequently  occur,  and  when  it  does, 
my  memoii^  must  encounter  it,  and  acquit  theniselves  of  it 
as  they  can  ;  for  myself,  it.  cannot  be  long  before  I  am  alike 
insensible  to  censure  or  applause. 

This  play,  of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  lay  by  me  for 
a  considerable  time  ;  till  Lord  Halifax  one  dEiy,  when  we 
were  at  Bushey  Park,  desired  me  to  shew  it  to  him  ;  he  read 
it,  and  irnmediately  proposed  to  carry  it  to  Garrick,  and  re- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  lOS 

commend  it  to  him  for  representation.  Garrick  was  then 
at  Hampton,  and  I  went  with  Lord  Halifax  across  the  park 
to  his  house.  This  was  the  first  time  I  found  myself  in 
company  with  that  extraordinary  man.  He  received  his  no- 
ble visitor  with  profound  obeisance,  and  in  truth  there  were 
some  claims  upon!  his  civility  for  favours  and  indulgcncies 
granted  to  him  by  Lord  Halifax  as  Ranger  of  Bushey  Park. 
I  was  silently  attentive  to  every  minute  particular  of  this  in- 
terview, and  soon  discovered  the  embarassment,  which  the 
introduction  of  my  manuscript  occasioned  ;  I  saw  my  cause 
was  desperate,  though  my  advocate  was  sanguine,  and  in 
truth  the  first  effort  of  a  raw  author  did  not  promise  much 
to  the  purpose  of  the  manager.  He  took  it,  however,  with 
all  possible  respect,  and  promised  an  attentive  perusal,  but 
those  tell-tale  features,  so  miraculously  gifted  in  the  art  of 
assumed  enaotions,  could  [not  mask  their  real  ones,  and  I 
predicted  to  Lord  Halifax,  as  we  returned  to  the  lodge,  that 
I  had  no  expectation  of  my  play  being  accepted.  A  day  or 
two  of  what  might  scarce  be  called  suspense  confirmed  this 
prediction,  when  Mr.  Garrick  having  stated  his  despair  of 
accommodating  a  play  on  such  a  plan  to  the  purposes  of  the 
stage,  returned  the  manuscript  to  Lord  Halifax  with  many- 
apologies  to  his  Lordship,  and  some  few  qualifying  words 
to  its  author,  which  certainly  was  as  much  as  in  reason  could 
be  expected  from  him,  though  it  did  not  satisfy  the  patron 
of  the  play,  who  warmly  resented  his  non-compliance  with 
his  wishes,  and  for  a  length  of  time  forbore  to  live  in  habits 
of  his  former  good  neighbourhood  with  him. 

When  I  published  this  play,  which  I  soon  after  did,  I  was 
conscious  that  I  published  Mr.  Garrick's  justification  for  re- 
fusing it,  and  I  made  no  mention  of  the  circumstances  above 
stated. 

George  Ridge,  Esquire,  of  Kilmiston,  in  the  county  of 
Hants,  had  two  sons  and  one  daughter  by  Miss  Brooke,  niece 
to  my  grandfather  Bentley  ;  with  this  family  we  had  lived  as 
friends  and  relations  in  habits  of  the  greatest  intimacy.  It 
was  upon  an  excursion,  as  I  have  before  related,  to  this  gen- 
tleman's house  tliat  I  founded  my  school-boy  poem  written 
at  Bury,  and  our  families  had  kept  up  an  interchange  of  an- 
nual visits  for  a  course  of  time.  From  these  meetings  I 
had  been  for  several  years  excluded  by  my  avocations  to  col- 
lege or  London,  till  upon  Mr.  Rirlge's  coming  to  town  ac- 
Gompaiiiied  by  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  taking  lodgings  in 


104  MEMOIRS  OF 

the  near  neig-hbourhood  of  Mount-Street,  where  I  held  my 
melancholy  abode,  I  was  kindly  entertained  by  them,  and 
found  so  many  real  charms  in  the  modest  manner  and  bloom- 
ing beauty  of  the  amiable  daughter,  that  I  passed  every  hour 
I  could  command  in  her  society,  and  devoted  all  my  thoughts 
to  the  attainment  of  that  happiness,  wiiich  it  was  in  her  pow- 
er to  bestow  on  my  future  days.  As  soon  therefore  as  I  ob- 
tained, through  the  patronage  of  Lord  Halifax,  a  small  es- 
tablishment as  Crow^n-Agent  for  the  province  of  Nova  Sco- 
tia, I  began  to  hope  the  object  I  aspired  to  was  within  my 
reach,  when  upon  a  visit  she  made  with  her  parents  to  mine 
at  Fulham,  I  tendered  my  addresses,  and  had  the  unspeak- 
able felicity  to  find  them  accepted,  and  sanctioned  by  the  con- 
sent of  all  parties  concerned ;  thus  I  became  possessed  of 
one,  whom  the  virtues  of  her  heart  and  the  charms  of  her 
person  had  effectually  endeared  to  me,  and  on  the  1 9th  day 
of  February,  1759,  (being  my  birth-day)  I  was  married  by 
my  father  in  the  church  of  Kilmiston  to  Elizabeth,  only 
daughter  of  George  and  Elizabeth  Ridge. 

Lord  Halifax,  upon  somp  slight  concessions  from  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle  had  reassumed  his  office  of  First  Lord 
of  Trade  and  Plantations,  and  I  returned  with  my  wife  to 
Fulham,  taking  a  house  for  a  short  time  in  Duke -Street, 
Westminster,  and  afterwards  m  Abingdon  Buildings. 

In  the  following  year,  upon  the  death  of  the  king,  admin* 
istration  it  is  well  known  took  a  new  shape,  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  towards  the  Earl  of  Bute,  as  dispenser  of  favours  and 
awarder  of  promotions.  Mr.  Dodington,  whom  I  had  visit- 
ed a  second  time  at  Eastbury  with  my  wife  and  her  father 
Mr.  Ridge,  obtained  an  English  peerage,  and  Lord  Flalifax 
was  honoured  with  the  high  office  of  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ire- 
land, and  was  preparing  to  open  his  majesty's  first  parlia- 
ment in  that  kingdom  :  I  had  reason  to  believe  myself  at 
this  time  very  much  in  his  confidence,  and  in  the  conduct  of 
a  certain  private  transaction,  which  I  am  not  called  upon  to 
explain,  I  had  done  him  faithful  service  ;  happy  for  him  it 
would  have  been,  and  the  prevention  of  innumerable  trou- 
bles and  vexations,  if  my  zealous  efforts  had  been  permitted 
to  take  effect,  but  a  f<:.tai  propensity  had  again  seized  pos- 
session of  him,  and  probably  the  more  strongly  for  the  inter- 
ruption it  had  received— but  of  this  enough. 

His  family  was  now  to  be  form.ed  upon  an  establishment 
suitable  to  his  high  office.     In  these  arrangements  tiiere  was 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  105 

much  to  do,  and  I  was  fully  occupied.  Some  few  persons  of 
obscure  characters  were  pressed  upon  him  for  subordinate 
situations  from  a  quarter,  where  I  had  no  communication  or 
connection :  but  I  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  his  old  and 
faithful  friend  Doctor  Crane  prepare  himself  to  head  tjie  list 
of  his  chaplains,  and  Doctor  Oswald,  afterwards  Bishop  of 
Raphoe,  with  my  good  father,  completed  that  department. 
I  obtained  a  situation  for  a  gentleman,  who  had  married  my 
eldest  sister,  but  what  gave  me  peculiar  satisfaction  was  to 
have  it  in  my  power  to  gratify  the  wishes  of  one  of  the  best 
and  bravest  young  officers  of  his  time.  Captain  William 
Ridge,  brother  to  my  wife.  He  had  served  the  whole  war 
in  America  with  distinguished  reputation ;  had  been  shot 
and  carried  off  the  field  in  the  fatal  affair  of  Ticonderoga, 
and  was  now  returned  with  honorable  wounds  and  the  praises 
and  esteem  of  his  general  and  brother  officers.  This  amia- 
ble, this  excellent  friend,  whose  heart  was  as  it  were  my  own, 
and  whose  memory  will  be  ever  dear  to  me,  I  caused  to  be 
put  upon  the  staff"  of  Aids-de-Camp,  and  had  the  happiness 
of  making  him  one  of  my  family  during  the  whole  time  of 
my  residence  in  Dublin  Castle,  as  Ulster  Secretary. 

William  Gerard  Hamilton,  a  name  well  known,  had  ne- 
gociated  himself  into  the  office  of  Chief  Secretary.  I  need 
say  no  more  than  that  he  did  not  owe  this  to  the  choice  of 
Lord  Halifax  :  of  course  it  v/as  not  easy  for  tliat  gentleman 
to  find  himself  in  the  confidence  of  his  principal,  to  whom 
he  was  little  known,  and  in  the  first  instance  not  altogether 
acceptable.  I  do  not  think  he  took  much  pains  to  con- 
quer first  impressions,  and  recommend  himself  to  the 
confidence  of  Lord  Halifax  :  it  is  certain  he  did  not 
possess  it,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  I,  who  held 
the  secondary  post  of  Ulster  Secretary,  became  involv- 
ed in  business  of  a  nature,  that  should  not  in  the  course 
of  office  have  belonged  to  me.  Affiiirs  of  this  sort,  which  I 
did  not  court,  and  had  no  right  to  be  concerned  in,  made  my 
situation  very  delicate  and  not  a  little  dangerous,  whilst  at 
the  same  time  the  entire  superintendance  of  Lord  Halifax's 
private  finances,  then  very  far  from  being  in  a  flourishing 
condition,  was  a  task,  which  no  prudent  man  would  covet, 
yet  such  an  one  as  for  his  sake  I  made  no  scruple  to  under- 
take. It  was  his  lot  to  succeed  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  and 
his  high  spirit  would  not  suff*er  him  to  sink  upon  the  compa- 
rison ;  I  found  him  therefore  resolute  to  start  on  his  career 


106  MEMOIRS  OF 

with  great  magniiicence,  and  leave  behind  him  all  attentions 
to  expense.  All  that  was  in  my  power  I  did  with  unwearied 
diligence  and  attention  to  his  interest,  inspecting  his  a.ccounts 
and  paying  his'bills  every  week  to  the  minutest  article.  I 
put  his  Green  Cloth  upon  a  liberal,  but  regulated,  establish- 
ment ;  I  placed  a  faithful  and  well  experienced  servant  of 
my  father's  at  the  head  of  his  tabtes  and  equipages,  and  gave 
charge  of  the  household  articles  to  his  principle  domestic,  of 
whose  honesty  he  had  many  years  experience. 

I  had  published  my  tragedy  of  The  Banishment  of  Cicero, 
by  Mr.  J.  Walter,  at  Charing-Cross,  upon  quarto  paper  in  a 
handsome  type;  I  found  it  pirated  and  published  in  a  sixpenny 
edition  at  Dublin,  from  the  press  of  George  Faulkener  of  im- 
mortal memory  :  if  he  had  subjoined  a  true  and  faithful  list  of 
errata,  I  doubt  if  he  could  have  afforded  it  at  the  price.  I  also 
upon  the  king's  accession  composed  and  published  a  poem  ad- 
dressed to  the  young  sovereign,  in  Vi4iich  I  attempted  to  de- 
lineate the  character  of  the  people  he  was  to  govern,  and 
the  principles  of  that  conduct,  which,  if  pursued,  v/ould 
ensure  their  attachment,  and  establish  his  own  happiness  and 
glory.  This  I  v/rote  in  blank  verse  :  it  w^as  published  by 
Mr.  Dodsley,  and  I  did  not  give  my  name  to  it.  Of  the  ex- 
tent of  its  circulation  I  cannot  speak,  neither  did  I  make  any 
search  into  the  reviev/s  of  that  time,  for  the  character,  good 
or  ill,  which  they  thought  lit  to  give  iu 

I  had  taken  leave  of  Lord  Melcombe  the  day  preceding 
the  coronation,  and  found  him  before  a  looking-glass  in  his 
new  robes  practising  attitudes  and  debating  within  himself 
upon  the  most  graceful  mode  of  carrying  his  coronet  in  the 
procession.  He  was  in  high  glee  with  his  fresh  and  bloom- 
ing honours,  and  I  left  him  in  the  act  of  dictating  a  billet  to 
Lady  Hervey,  apprising  her  that  a  young  Loj'd  W2is  coming 
to  throw  himself  at  her  feet.  He  conjured  me  to  keep  my 
Lord  Lieutenant  firmly  attached  to  Lord  Bvite,  and  we 
parted. 

Here,  hov/ever,  I  must  take  leave  to  pause  upon  a  period 
in  the  life  of  my  uncle  Mr.  Bentley,  when  fortune  smiled 
upon  him,  and  his  genius  was  dravm  forth  into  exertion  by 
the  patronage  of  Lord  Bute.  Through  my  intimacy  with 
Mr.  Dodington  I  had  been  the  lucky  in stiument  of  opening 
that  channel,  which  for  a  time  at  least  brought  him  afHuence, 
comfort  and  consideration.  There  was  not  a  man  of  literary 
talents  then  in  the  kingdom,  who  stood  so  high  and  so  de- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  ior 

servedly  in  ft.me  and  favour  with  the  Premier  as  Mr.  Bent- 
ley  ;  and  though,  when  that  great  personage  went  out  of 
office,  my  uncle  lost  every  place  ofprolit  that  could  be  taken 
from  hin),  he  continued  to  enjoy  a  peusion  of  five  hundred 
pounds  per  annum,  in  which  his  widow  had  her  life,  and  re- 
ceived it  many  years  after  his  decease. 

Lord  Bute  had  all  the  disposition  of  a  Mecrenas,  and  fondly 
hoped  he  would  be  the  auspicious  instrument  of  opening  an 
Augustan  reign  ;  he  sent  out  his  runners  upon  the  search 
for  men  of  talents,  and  Dodington  was  perfectly  reconciled 
to  the  honour  of  being  his  provider  in  that  laudable  pursuit, 
for  which  no  man  was  better  qu,a]ified.  He  was  not  want- 
ing in  intuition  to  discern  what  the  jpowers  of  Bentley's 
genius  were,  and  none  could  better  point  out  the  purposes, 
to  v/hich  they  might  be  usefully  directed.  Opposition  was 
then  beginning  to  look  up,  and  soon  felt  the  sharp  point  of 
Bentley's  pen  in  one  of  the  keenest  and  wittiest  satires  ex- 
tant in  our  language.  Lord  Temple,  Wilkes,  and  others 
of  the  party  were  attacked  with  unsparing  asperity,  and 
much  classical  acumen.  Churchill,  the  Dryden  of  his  age, 
and  indisputably  a  man  of  a  first-rate  genius,  was  too  candid 
not  to  acknowledge  the  merit  of  the  poem,  and  when  he  de- 
clined taking  up  the  gauntlet  so  pointedly  thrown  down  to 
him,  it  was  not  because  he  held  his  challenger  in  contempt. 
It  was  this  poem,  that  brought  an  accumulation  of  favours^ 
on  its  author,  but  I  don't  know  that  he  ever  had  an  interview 
with  the  bestower  of  them,  and  I  am  rather  inclined  to  think 
they  never  met.  About  the  same  time  my  uncle  composed 
his  witty  but  eccentric  drama  of  The  Wishes^  in  which  he 
introduces  the  speaking  Harlequin  after  the  manner  of  the 
Italians.  This  curious  production,  after  being  circulated  in 
manuscript,  admired  and  applauded  by  all  who  had  seen  it, 
and  those  the  very  party  which  led  the  taste  of  the  time  un- 
der the  auspices  of  Lord  Bute,  was  privately  rehearsed  at 
Lord  Melcombe's  villa  of  La  Trappe.  It  was  on  a  beautiful 
summer's  evening  when  it  was  recited  upon  the  terrace  on 
the  banks  of  the  Thames,  by  Obrien,  Miss  Elliot,  Mrs. 
Haughton  and  some  few  others  under  the  management  of 
Foote  and  Murphy,  who  attended  on  the  occasion.  At  this 
rehearsal,  there  was  present — a  youih  tinloiowji  to  fame — who 
was  understood  to  be  protected  by  Lord  Bute,  and  came  thi- 
ther in  a  hackney  coach  w4th  Mrs.  Haughton.  This  gen- 
tleman was  of  the  party  at  the  supper  with  which  the  even- 


loa  MEMOIRS  OF 

ing's  entertaiiimexit  concluded  ;  he  modestly  resigned  the 
conversation  to  those,  who  were  more  disposed  to  carry  it 
on,  whilst  it  was  only  in  the  contemplation  of  an  intelligent 
countenance  that  we  could  form  any  conjecture  as  to  that 
extraordinary  gift  of  genius,  which  in  coiu'se  of  time  advanced 
him  to  the  great  seal  of  the  kingdom  and  the  Earldom  of 
Rosslyn. 

Foote,  Murphy  and  Obrien  were  then  joint  conductors 
of  the  summer  theatre,  and  performed  their  plays  upon 
the  stage  of  Drury  Lane,  and  here  they  brought  out  The 
Wishes^  which  had  now  been  so  much  the  topic  of  con- 
versation, that  it  drew  all  the  wit  and  fashion  then  in  town 
to  its  first  representation.  The  brilliancy  of  its  dialogue 
and  the  reiterated  strokes  of  point  and  repartee  kept  the 
audience  in  good  humour  with  the  leading  acts,  and  seem- 
ed to  augur  favourably  for  the  conclusion,  till  when  the 
last  of  the  Three  Wishes  produced  the  ridiculous  catas- 
trophe of  the  hanging  of  Harlequin  in  full  view  of  the  audi- 
ence, my  uncle,  the  author,  then  sitting  by  me,  whispered 
in  my  ear—''  If  they  don't  damn  this,  they  deserve  to  be 
"  damn'd  themselves" — and  whilst  he  was  yet  speaking 
the  roar  began,  and  Th§  Wishes  were  irrevocably  condemned. 
Mr.  Harris  some  years  after  gave  it  a  second  chance  upon 
his  stage  :  the  judgment  of.  the  public  could  not  take  away 
the  merit  of  the  poet,  but  it  decided  against  his  success. 
Upon  the  hint  of  this  play  and  the  entertainments  at  La 
Trappe,  where  f5ot  had  been  a  guest,  that  wicked  wit  took 
measure  of  his  host,  and  founded  his  satirical  drama  of  The 
Patron-^m  short  he  feasted,  flattered  and  lampooned. 

Mr.  Bentley  also  wrote  a  very  elegant  poem,  and  addres- 
sed it  as  an  epistle  to  Lord  Melcombe  :  it  was  in  my  opinion 
a  most  exquisite  composition,  in  no  respect  inferior  to  his 
satire,  but  for  reasons  I  could  never  understand,  nor  even 
guess,  it  was  coolly  received  by  Melcombe,  and  stopt  with 
him.  If  that  poem  is  in  the  hands  of  any  of  Mr.  Bentley's 
family,  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  they  withhold  it  from 
the  public,  though  all  that  was  then  temporary  is  now  long 
past  and  forgotten. 

What  may  be  the  nature  or  amount  of  the  manuscripts, 
which  my  uncle  may  have  left  behind  him,  I  do  not  know  : 
I  can  speak  only  of  two  dramas  ;  one  of  these  entitled  Philo- 
damus  has  been  given  to  the  public  by  Mr.  Harris,  and 
Henderson  performed  the  cliaracter  that  gives  its  name  to 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  loy 

the  play.  The  ingenious  author  always  wrote  for  the  reader, 
he  did  not  study  how  to  humour  the  spectator  :  Philodanuis 
has  much  of  the  old  cast  in  its  style,  with  a  considerable 
portion  of  originality  and  a  bold  vein  of  humour  running 
through  it,  occasionally  intermixed  even  with  the  pathos  of 
the  scene,  which  in  a  modern  composition,  pn[)fessing  itself 
to  be  a  tragedy,  is  a  perilous  experiment.  '  Such  it  proved 
to  Philodamus :  its  very  best  passages  in  perusal  were  its 
weakest  points  in  representation,  and  it  may  be  truly  said 
it  was  ruined  by  its  virtues  ;  but  in  the  galleries  of  our  thea- 
tres the  graces  have  no  seats,  and  he  that  writes  to  the  po- 
pulace must  not  borrow  the  pen  of  the  author  of  Philodamus. 
Poet  Gray  wrote  a  long  and  elaborate  critique  on  this  drama, 
which  I  saw,  and  though  his  flattery  was  outrageously  pedan- 
tic, yet  the  incense  of  praise  from  author  to  author  is  always 
sweet,  and  perhaps  not  the  less  acceptable  on  account  of  its 
being  so  seldom  offered  up.  The  other  drama  on  the  Ge- 
noese Conspiracy  I  saw  in  its  unfinished  state,  and  can  only 
say  that  I  was  struck  by  certain  passages,  but  cannot  speak 
of  it  as  a  whole. 

When  the  ceremony  of  the  coronation  Was  over,  the,Lord 
Lieutenant  set  out  for  Ireland  with  a  numerous  cavalcade. 
I  w^as  now  the  father  of  two  infant  children,  a  daughter  and 
a  son  ;  these  I  left  with  their  grandmother  Mrs.  Ridge,  and 
was  accompanied  by  my  wife,  though  in  a  state  ill  calculated 
to  endure  the  rough  roads  by  land,  and  the  more  rough  pas- 
sage by  sea  :  my  father,  mother  and  sisters  were  with  us  in 
the  yacht ;  they  took  a  house  in  Dublin,  and  I  was  by  oflice 
an  inhabitant  of  the  castle,  and  lodged  in  very  excellent  and 
commodious  apartments. 

The  speech  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant  upon  the  opening  of 
the  session  is  upon  record.  It  was  generally  esteemed  a 
very  brilliunt  composition.  His  graceful  person  and  impres- 
sive manner  of  delivery  set  it  off  to  its  best  advantage,  and 
all  things  seemed  to  aur;ur  well  for  his  success.  When  I 
Avas  called  in  jointly  witn  Secretary  Hamilton  to  take  the 
project  and  rough  copy  of  this  speech  into  consideration,  I 
could  not  help  remarking  tlie  extraordinary  efforts  which 
that  gentleman  made  to  engraft  his  own  very  peculiar  style 
upon  the  sketch  before  him  ;  in  this  I  sometimes  agreed 
with  him,  but  more  commonly  opposed  him,  till  LordTrlaii- 
fax,  whose  patience  began  to  be  exhausted,  no  longer  sub- 
mitted his  copy  to  be  dissected,  but  took  it  to  himself  with 

K 


no  MEMOIRS  OF 

svTch  alterations  as  he  saw  fit  to  adopt,  and  those  but  few. 
I  must  candidly  acknowledge  that  at  times  when  I  have 
heard  people  searching  for  internal  evidence  in  the  style  of 
Junius  as  to  tlie  author  of  those  famous  letters,  I  have  called 
to  recollection  this  circumstance,  which  I  have  now  related, 
and  occasionally  said  that  the  style  of  Junius  bore  a  strong 
resemblance  to  what  I  had  observed  of  the  style  of  Secretary 
Hamilton ;  beyond  this  I  never  had  the  least  grounds  for 
conjecture,  nor  any  clue  to  lead  me  to  the  discovery  of  that 
anonymous  writer  beyond  what  I  have  alluded  to. 

I  remember  a  conversation  he  held  with  me  some  time  be- 
fore we  left  England  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Edmund  Burke, 
"whom  he  had  then  attached  to  himself,  and  for  whom  he 
wished  me  to  assist  in  projecting  some  establishment.  I 
liad  then  never  seen  that  eminent  person,  nor  did  I  meet 
him  till  after  my  arrival  in  Dublin,  when  I  had  merely  the 
opportunity  of  introducing  myself  to  him  in  passing  through 
the  apartment,  where  he  was  in  attendance  upon  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton. He  had  indeed  his  fortune  to  make,  but  he  was  not 
disposed  to  make  it  by  any  means  but  such  as  perfectly  ac- 
corded with  his  feelings  and  his  honor ;  for  when  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton contrived  to  accommodate  him  by  some  private  ma- 
noeuvre, which  I  am  not  correctly  possessed  of,  he  saw  occa- 
sion in  a  shoit  time  after  his  acceptance  of  it  to  throw  it  up, 
and  break  from  all  connexion  with  that  gentleman  and  his 
politics.  With  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  he  had  little  if  any, 
correspondence  or  acquaintance,  for  though  Lord  Halifax's 
intuition  could  not  fail  to  discover  the  merits  of  Mr.  Burke, 
and  rightly  to  have  appreciated  them,  had  they  ever  come 
cordially  into  contact,  it  was  not  from  the  quarter  in  which 
he  was  then  placed,  that  favour  and  promotion  might  be 
looked  for. 

Vv'ithout  entering  upon  the  superannuated  politics  of  that 
time,  it  i<3  enough  to  say  that  the  king's  business  was  carried 
through  the  cession  with  success,  and  when  the  vote  was 
passed  for  Wgnaenting  the  revenur:  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant, 
and  setting  it  at  the  standard  to  which  it  is  now  fixed,  he 
accepted  and  passed  it  in  favour  of  his  successors,  but  per- 
emptorily rejected  it  for  himself.  At  this  very  time  I  had 
issued  to  the  amount  of  twenty  thousand  pounds  expended 
in  office,  whilst  he  had  been  receiving  about  twelve,  and  I 
know  not  where  that  man  could  have  been  found,  to  whom 
those  exceedings  were  more  severely  embarassing  than  to 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  1 1 1 

this  disinterested  personage  ;  but  in  this  case  he  acted  en- 
tirely from  the  dictates  of  his  ov.-n  high  spirit,  scarce  deign- 
ing to  lend  an  ear  to  the  remonstrances  even  of  Doctor 
Crane,  and  taking  his  n>easures  with  such  rapidity,  as  to 
preclude  all  hesitation  or  debate. 

His  popularity  however  was  so  established  by  his  higii 
minded  proceeding,  that  upon  his  departure  from  Ireland  all 
parties  seem.ed  to  unite  in  applauding  his  conduct  and  invc- 
Idng  his  return  :  the  shore  was  thronged  with  crowds  o;' 
people,  that  followed  him  to  the  water's  edge,  and  the  sea 
was  in  a  manner  covered  with  boats  and  vessels,  that  accom- 
panied the  yacht  through  the  bay,  studious  to  pay  to  their 
popular  chief  governor  every  valedictory  honour,  that  their 
zeal  and  attention  could  devise. 

The  patronage  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant  was  at  that  time 
soextrem.ely  circumscribed,  that  except  in  the  church  and 
army  few  expectants  could  have  been  put  in  possession  of 
their  wishes,  had  not  my  under-secretary  Mr.  RoseingraA^e 
discovered  a  number  of  lapsed  patents,  that  had  laid  dor- 
mant in  my  office  for  a  length  of  time,  neither  allowances 
nor  perquisites  being  annexed  to  them.  When  a  pretty 
considerable  number  of  these  patents  were  collected,  and  a 
list  of  them  made  out,  I  laid  them  before  the  Lord  Lieuten- 
ant for  his  disposal  in  such  manner  as  he  saw  fit.  He  at 
once  discerned  the  great  accommodation  they  would  afTord 
him,  and  very  gladly  availed  himself  of  them,  obtaiviing 
grants  of  parliament  for  each  respectively,  which,  though 
virtually  pensions,  were  not  so  glaringly  obnoxious,  nor 
were  any  of  them  in  fact  such  absolute  sinecures,  some  du- 
ty being  attached  to  every  one  of  them.  They  were  certain- 
ly a  very  seasonable  accession  to  his  patronage,  and  I  make 
no  doubt  a  very  acceptable  one  to  the  circumstances  of  those, 
on  whom  he  bestowed  them,  I  sought  no  share  in  the  spoil, 
but  rather  wished  to  stand  correctly  clear  of  any  interested 
part  in  the  transaction ;  some  small  thing,  however,  I  ask- 
ed and  obtained  for  my  v/orthy  second  Mr.  Roseingrave, 
who  had  all  the  merit  of  the  manoeuvre,  and  many  other  mer- 
its of  a  much  superior  sort,  for  which  I  sincerely  esteemed  / 
him,  and,  till  his  deatli  put  an  end  to  our  correspondence,' 
preserved  a  constant  interchance  offriendly  sentiments,  arj 
at  times  of  visits,  when  either  he  came  to  England,  or,  J 
passed  over  to  Ireland. 

And  here,  in  justice  to  myself,  I  must  take  credit , for  a 


112  MEMOIRS  OF 

disinterestedness  which  never  could  be  betrayed  into  the  ac- 
ceptance of  any  thing,  however  covered  or  contrived  (and 
many  were  the  devices  then  ingeniously  practised  upon  me) 
which  delicacy  could  possibly  interpret  as  a  gratuity,  whether ' 
tendered  as  an  acknowledgment  for  favours  past,  or  an  in- 
ducement for  services  to  come.  As  I  went  to  Ireland  so  I 
returned  from  it,  perfectly  clean-handed,  not  having  profited 
my  small  fortune  in  the  value  of  a  single  shilling,  except 
from  the  fair  income  of  my  office  arising  from  the  establish- 
ed fees  upon  wool-licences,  which  netted,  as  well  as  I  can 
recollect,  about  3001.  per  annum,  and  did  not  clear  my  ex- 
traordinary expenses. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  session  the  Lord  Lieutenant  took 
occasion  one  morning,  when  I  waited  upon  him  with  his  pri- 
vate accounts,  to  express  his  satisfaction  in  my  services,  ad- 
ding that  he  wished  to  murk  his  particular  approbation  of  me 
by  obtaining  for  me  the  rank  of  a  baronet :  a  title,  he  observed, 
very  fit  in  his  opinion  for  me  to  liold,  as  my  father  would 
in  all  probability  be  a  bishop,  and  had  a  competant  estate, 
which  Vvould  descend  to  me.  I  confess  it  was  not  the  sort 
of  favour  I  expected,  and  struck  me  as  a  gaudy  insubstan- 
tial offer,  which  as  a  mere  addition  to  my  name  v/ithout  any 
to  my  circumstances,  was,  (as  my  friend  Isted  afterwards 
described  it)  a  mere  mouthful  of  moonshine.  I  received  the 
tender  notwithstanding  with  all  the  due  respect,  and  only  de- 
^red  time  to  turn  it  in  my  thoughts.  I  was  now  the  father 
of  three  children,  for  I  had  a  daughter  born  in  the  castle,  and 
when  I  found  my  father  and  my  whole  family  adverse  to  the 
proposal,  I  signified  to  Lord  Halifax  my  wish  to  decline  the 
honour  he  had  been  pleased  to  offer  me  :  I  certainly  did  not 
make  my  court  to  him  by  this  refusal,  and  vanity,  if  I  had 
listened  to  it,  would  in  this  instance  have  taught  me  better 
policy,  but  to  err  on  the  side  of  moderation  and  humility  is 
an  error  that  ought  not  to  be  repented  of;  though  I  have 
reason  to  think  from  ensuing  circumstances,  that-  it  contri- 
buted to  weaken  an  interest,  which  so  many  engines  were 
at  work  to  extinguish.  In  fact  I  plainly  saw  it  was  not  for 
nie  to  expect  any  lasting  tenure  in  the  share  I  then  possessed 
of  favour,  unless  I  kept  it  up  by  sacrifices  I  was  determined 
not  to  make  ;  in  short  I  had  not  that  worldly  wisdom,  which 
could  prevail  with  me  to  pay  my  homage  in  that  quarter,  from 
which  my  patron  derived  his  ruin,  and  purchase  by  disgrace- 
£ul  Attentions  a  continuance  of  that  claim  to  his  protection  and 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  113^ 

regard,  which  I  had  earned  by  long  and  faithful  services  for 
ten  years  past,  (the  third  part  of  my  life)  without  intermis- 
sion, and  for  the  longer  halfof  that  time  without  consideration 
or  reward. 

As  sure  as  ever  my  history  brings  me  to  the  mention  of 
that  fatal  step,  which  took  me  out  of  the  path  I  was  in,  and 
turned  me  from  the  prosecution  of  those  peaceful  studies,  to 
which  I  was  so  cordially  devoted,  and  which  were  leading 
me  to  a  profession,  wherein  some  that  went  before  me  had 
distinguished  themselves  with  such  credit,  so  sure  am  I  to 
feel  at  my  heart  a  pang,  that  wounds  me  with  regret 
and  self-reproach  for  having  yielded  to  a  delusion  at  the 
inexperienced  age  of  nineteen,  since  which  I  have  seen 
more  than  half  a  century  go  by,  every  day  of  which  has  only 
served  to  strengthen  more  and  more  the  full  conviction  of 
my  error. 

Hamilton,  who  in  the  English  parliament  got  the  nick- 
name of  Single-speech,  spoke  well,  but  not  often,  in  the  Irish 
House  of  Commons.  He  had  a  promptitude  of  thought,  and 
a  rapid  flow  of  well-conceived  matter,  with  many  other  re- 
quisites, that  only  seemed  waiting  for  opportunities  to  esta- 
blish his  reputation  as  an  orator.  He  had  a  striking  counte- 
nance, a  graceful  carriage,  great  self-possession  and  personal 
courage  :  he  was  not  easily  put  out  of  his  way  by  any  of 
those  unaccommodating  repugnances,  that  men  of  weaker 
nerves  or  more  tender  consciences  might  have  stumbled  at, 
or  been  checked  by  ;  he  could  mask  the  passions,  that  were 
natural  to  him,  and  assume  those,  that  did  not  l)elong  to  him  ; 
he  was  indefatigable,  meditative,  mysterious  ;  his  opinions 
were  the  result  of  long  labour  and  much  reflection,  but  he 
had  the  art  of  setting  tliem  forth  as  if  they  were  the  starts  of 
ready  genius  and  a  quick  perception  :  he  had  as  much  seem- 
ing steadiness  as  a  partisan  could  stand  in  need  of,  and  all 
the  real  flexibiliy,  that  could  suit  his  purpose,  or  advance  his 
interest.  He  would  fain  have  retained  his  connection  with 
Edmund  Burke,  and  associated  him  to  his  politics,  for  he 
well  knew  the  value  of  his  talents,  but  in  that  object  he  was 
soon  disappointed  :  the  genius  of  Burke  was  of  too  high  a 
cast  to  endure  debasement. 

The  bishopric  of  Elphin  became  vacant,  and  was  offered 
to  Doctor  Crane,  who,  though  moderately  beneficed  in  En- 
gland, withstood  the  temptation  of  that  valuable  mitre,  and 
tlisu:iterestediy  declined  it.     This  was  a  decisive  instance  of 

K  2 


lU  MEMOIRS  OF 

the  purity  as  well  as  moderation  of  his  mind,  for  had  he  not 
disdained  all  ideas  of  negociation  in  church  preferments,  he 
might  have  accepted  the  see  of  Elphin,  and  traded  with  it  in 
England,  as  others  have  done  both  before  and  since  his  time. 
He  was  not  a  man  of  this  sort ;  he  returned  to  his  prebendal 
house  at  Westminster  in  the  little  cloysters,  and  some  years 
before  his  death  resided  in  his  parsonage  house  at  Sutton,  a 
living  given  him  by  Sir  Roger  Burgoyne,  near  to  which  I 
had  a  house,  from  which  I  paid  him  frequent  visits,  and 
vrith  unspeakable  concern  saw  that  excellent  man  resign 
himself  v,^ith  patience  truly  Christian  to  the  dreadful  and  tor- 
menting visitation  of  a  cancer  in  his  face.  I  was  at  my  house 
atTetworth  near  Sutton  in  Bedfordshire,  when  he  rode  over 
to  me  one  morning,  and  complained  of  a  soreness  on  his  lip, 
which  he  said  he  had  hurt  in  shaving  himself;  it  was  hardly 
discernable,  but  alas  !  it  contained  the  seeds  of  that  dire  dis- 
ease, and  from  that  moment  kept  spreading  over  his  face  with 
excruciating  agony,  which  allowed  him  no  repose,  till  it  laid 
him  in  his  grave. 

By  his  refusal  of  Elphin,  Doctor  Oswald  was  promoted  to 
an  inferior  bishopric,  and  my  father  thereby  stood  next  upon 
the  roll  for  a  mitre  :  in  the  mean  time  he  formed  his  friend- 
ships in  Ireland  with  some  of  the  most  respectable  charac- 
ters, and  made  a  visit,  accompanied  by  my  mother,  to  Doctor 
Pocock,  Bishop  of  Ossory,  at  his  episcopal  house  at  Kil- 
kenny. That  celebrated  oriental  traveller  and  author  was 
a  naan  of  mild  manners  and  primitive  simplicity  :  having 
given  the  world  a  full  detail  of  his  researches  in  Egypt,  he 
seemed  to  hold  himself  excused  from  saying  any  thmg  more 
about  them,  and  observed  in  general  an  obdurate  taciturnity, 
in  his  carriage  and  deportment  he  appeared  to  have  con- 
tracted, something  of  the  Arab  character,  yet  there  was  no 
austerity  in  his  silence,  and  though  his  air  was  solemn  his 
temper  was  serene.  When  we  were  on  our  road  to  Ireland, 
I  saw  from  the  v/indov/s  of  the  inn  at  Daventry  a  cavalcade 
of  horsemen  approaching  on  a  gentle  trot,  headed  by  an  el- 
derly chief  in  clerical  attire,  who  was  followed  by  five  ser- 
vants at  distances  geometrically  measured  and  most  precise- 
ly maintained,  and  who  upon  entering  the  inn  proved  to  be 
this  distinguished  prelate,  conducting  his  horde  with  the 
phlegmatic  patience  of  a  S^heik. 

.    I  found  the  state  of  society  in  Dublin  very  different  from 
what  I  had  observed  in  London  :  the  professions  more  inter ■- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  116 

iTiixt,  and  ranks  more  blended  ;  in  the  j^rcat  houses  I  met  a 
promiscuous  assembly  of  politicians,  lawyers,  soldiers  ^nd 
divines  ;  the  profusion  of  their  tables  struck  mc  with  sur- 
prise ;  nothing  that  I  had  seen  in  England  could  rival  the 
Polish  magnificence  of  Primate  Stone,  or  the  Parisian  lux- 
ury of  Mr.  Clements.  The  style  of  Dodington  was  stately, 
but  there  was  a  watchful  and  well-regulated  ceconomy  over 
all,  that  here  seemed  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind.  The 
professional  gravity  of  character  maintained  by  our  English 
dignitaries  was  here  laid  aside,  and  in  several  prelatical 
houses  the  mitre  was  so  mingled  with  the  cockade,  and  the 
glass  circulated  so  freely,  that  I  perceived  the  spirit,  of  con- 
viviality was  by  no  means  excludx^d  from^  the  pale  of  the 
church  of  Ireland. 

Primate  Stone  was  at  that  time  in  the  zenith  of  his  power ; 
he  had  a  great  following  ;  his  intellect  was  as  strong  as  ever, 
but  his  constitution  was  in  its  waine.  I  had  frequent  occa- 
sions to  resort  to  him,  and  much  reason  to  speak  highly  of 
his  candour  and  condescension.  No  man  faced  difficulties 
with  greater  courage,  none  overcame  them  v/ith  more  ad- 
dixss  ;  he  was  formed  to  hold  command  over  turbulent  spi- 
rits in  tempestuous  seasons  ;  for  if  he  could  not  absolutely 
rule  the  passions  of  men,  he  could  artfully  rule  men  by  the 
medium  of  their  passions  ;  he  had  great  suavity  of  manners 
when  points  were  to  be  carried  by  insinuation  and  finesse  ; 
but  if  authority  was  necessarily  to  be  enforced,  none  could 
hold  it  with  a  higher  hand :  he  was  an  elegant  scholar,  a 
consummate  politician,  a  very  fine  gentleman,  and  in  every 
character  seen  to  more  advantage  than  in  that,  which  accord- 
ing to  his  sacred  function  should  have  been  his  .chief  and 
only  object  to  sustain. 

Doctor  Robinson,  was  by  Lord  Halifax  translated  from  the 
see  of  Ferns  to  that  of  Kildare.  I  had  even  then  a  presen- 
timent that  we  were  forwarding  his  advancement  tow^ards  the 
primacy,  and  persuaded  myself  that  the  successor  of  Stone 
would  be  found  in  the  person  of  the  Bishop  of  Kildare.  Of 
him  I  shall  probably  have  occasion  to  speak  more  at  large 
hereafter,  for  the  acquaintance,  which  I  had  the  honour  to 
form  with  him  at  this  time,  was  in  the  further  course  of  it 
ripened  into  friendship  and  an  intimacy,  which  he  never  suf- 
fered to  abate,  and  I  prized  too  highly  to  neglect. 

I  made  but  one  short  excursion  from  Dublin,  and  this  was 
to  the  house  of  that  gailaiU  officer  Colonel  Ford,  who  per- 


116  MEMOIRS  OF 

ished  in  his  passage  to  India,  and  who  was  married  to  a  re- 
lation of  my  wife.  Having  established  his  fame  in  the  battle 
of  Plassey  and  several  other  actions,  he  seated  himself  at 
Johnstown  in  the  centre  of  an  inveterate  bog,  but  the  soil, 
such  as  it  was,  had  the  recommendation  to  him  of  being  his 
native  soil,  and  all  its  deformities  vanished  from  his  sight. 

I  had  more  than  once  the  amusement  of  dining  at  the 
house  of  that  most  singular  being  George  Faulkner,  where 
I  found  myself  in  a  company  so  miscellaneously  and  whim- 
sically classed,  that  it  looked  more  like  a  fortuitous  con- 
course of  oddities,  jumbled  together  from  all  ranks,  orders 
and  descriptions,  than  the  effect  of  invitation  and  design. 
Description  must  fall  short  in  the  attempt  to  convey  any 
sketch  of  that  eccentric  being  to  those,  who  have  not  read 
him  in  the  notes  of  Jephson,  or  seen  him  in  the  mimicki^y  of 
Foote,  who  in  his  portraits  of  Faulkner  found  the  only 
sitter,  whom  his  extravagant  pencil  could  not  caricature  ;  for 
he  had  a  solemn  intrepidity  of  egotism,  cind  a  daring  con- 
tempt of  absurdity,  that  fairly  outfaced  imitation,  and  like 
Garrick's  Ode  on  Shakspeare,  which  Johnson  said  "defied 
criticism,"  so  did  George  in  the  original  spirit  of  his 
own  perfect  buffoonery  defy  caricature.  He  never  deign- 
ed to  join  in  the  laugh  he  had  raised,  nor  seemed  to 
have  a  feeling  of  the  ridicule  he  had  provoked  :  at  the 
same  time  that  he  was  pre-eminently  and  by  preference 
the  butt  and  buffoon  of  the  company,  he  could  find  open- 
ings and  opportunities  for  hits  of  retaliation,  which  were 
such  left-handed  thrusts  as  few  could  parry  :  nobody  could 
foresee  where  they  would  fall,  nobody  of  course  was  fore- 
armed, and  as  there  was  in  his  calculation  but  one  super- 
eminent  character  in  the  kingdom  of  Ireland,  and  he  the 
printer  of  the  Dublin  Journal,  rank  was  no  shield  against 
George's  arrows,  which  flew  where  he  listed,  and  fixed  or 
missed  as  chance  directed,  he  cared  not  about  consequences. 
He  gave  good  meat  and  excellent  claret  in  abundance  ;  I 
sate  at  his  table  once  from  dinner  till  two  in  the  morning, 
whilst  George  swallowed  immense  potations  with  one  soli- 
tary sodden  strawberry  at  the  bottom  of  the  glass,  which  he 
said  was  recommended  to  him  by  his  doctor  for  its  cooling 
properties.  He  never  lost  his  recollection  or  equilibrium 
the  whole  time,  and  was  in  excellent  foolery  ;  it  was  a  sin- 
gular coincidence,  that  there  v/as  a  person  in  company,  v/ha 
had  received  his  reprieve  at  the  gallows,  and  the  very  judge 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  llf 

who  had  passed  sentence  of  death  upon  him.  This  did  not 
in  the  least  disturb  the  harmony  of  the  society,  nor  embar- 
rass any  human  creature  present.  All  went  off  perfectly 
smooth,  and  George,  adverting  to  an  original  portrait  of 
Dean  Swift,  which  hung  in  his  room,  told  us  abundance  of 
excellent  and  interesting  anecdotes  of  the  Dean  and  himself 
with  minute  precision  and  an  importance  irresistibly  ludi- 
crous. There  was  also  a  portrait  of  his  late  lady  Mrs. 
Faulkner,  which  either  made  the  painter  or  George  a  liar, 
for  it  was  frightfully  ugly,  whilst  he  swore  she  was  the  most 
divine  object  in  creation.  In  the  mean  time  he  took  credit 
to  himself  for  a  few  deviations  in  point  of  gallantry,  and  as- 
serted that  he  broke  his  leg  in  flying  from  the  fury  of  an  en- 
raged husband,  whilst  Foote  constantly  maintained  that  he 
fell  down  an  area  with  a  tray  of  meat  upon  his  shoulder,  when 
he  was  journeyman  to  a  butcher  :  I  believe  neither  of  them 
spoke  the  truth.  George  prosecuted  Foote  for  lampooning 
him  on  the  stage  of  Dublin  ;  his  counsel  the  prime  serjeant 
compared  him  to  Socrates  and  his  libeller  to  Aristophanes  ; 
this  I  believe  was  all  that  George  got  by  his  course  of  law  : 
but  he  was  told  he  had  the  best  of  the  bargain  in  the  compa- 
rison, and  sate  down  contented  under  the  shadow  of  his  lau- 
rels. In  process  of  time  he  became  an  alderman ;  I  paid  my 
court  to  him  in  that  character,  but  I  thought  he  was  rather 
marred  than  mended  by  his  dignity.  George  grew  grave 
and  sentimental,  and  sentiment  and  gravity  sate  as  ill  upon 
George,  as  a  gown  and  a  square  cap  would  upon  a  monkey. 

Mrs.  Dancer,  then  in  her  prime,  and  very  beautiful,  was 
acting  with  Barry  at  the  Crow-Street  theatre,  and  Miss 
Elliot,  who  had  played  in  Mr.  Bentley's  Wishes^  came  over 
v/ith  the  recommendation  of  Mr.  Arthur  Murphy,  who  in- 
terested himself  much  in  her  success  :  this  young  unedu- 
cated girl  had  great  natural  talents,  and  played  the  part  of 
Maria  in  her  patron's  farce  of  The  Citizen,  with  admirable 
spirit  and  effect.  The  whimsical  mock-opera  of  Midas  was 
first  brought  upon  the  Dublin  stage  in  this  season,  and  had 
all  the  protection,  which  the  castle  patronage  could  bestow, 
and  that  could  not  be  more  than  its  pleasantry  and  originality 
deserved. 

When  the  time  for  our  departure  was  in  near  approach, 
the  Lord  Lieutenant  expressed  his  wish  that  I  would  take 
the  conduct  of  his  daughters  and  the  ladies  of  his  family 
on  their  journey  home,  whilst  he  went  forward,  and  would 


118  MEMOIRS  OF 

expect  us  at  Bushey  Park.  Circumstanced  as  I  was,  I  could 
not  undertake  the  charge  of  his  family  without  abandoning 
that  of  my  own,  which  I  did  with  the  utmost  regret,  though 
my  brother-in-law,  Captain  Ridge,  kindly  offered  himself  to 
conduct  his  sister  and  her  infant  to  the  place  of  their  destina- 
tion, and  accordingly  embarked  with  them  in  a  pacquet  for 
Holy-head  some  days  before  my  departure.  Painful  as  this 
parting  was,  I  had  yet  the  consolation  of  surrendering  those 
objects  of  my  affection  to  the  care  of  him,  whom  I  would 
have  chosen  out  of  all  men  living  for  the  trust.  They  were 
to  repose  for  a  few  days  at  a  house  called  Tyrin^aam,  within  a 
short  distance  of  Newport  Pagnell,  which  I  had  taken  of  the 
heir  of  the  Bakewell  family.  It  was  a  large  and  venerable  old 
mansion,  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Ouse,  and  had 
caught  my  eye  as  I  was  on  my  road  to  Ireland  :  understand- 
ing it  was  furnished  and  to  be  let,  I  crossed  the  river,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  conversation  with  the  steward  agreed  to  take 
it,  and  in  this  I  was  in  some  degree  biassed  by  the  conside- 
ration of  its  near  neighbourhood  to  Lord  Halifax,  at  Horton. 
It  was  a  hasty  bargain,  but  one  of  the  cheapest  ever  made, 
and  I  had  no  occasion  at  any  time  after  to  repent  of  it. 

When  we  arrived  at  Bushey  Park,  and  I  had  surrender^ 
ed  my  charge  to  Lord  Halifiix,  I  lost  no  further  time, 
but  hastened  to  my  wife,  who  was  then  in  Hamphire  at 
her  father's,  where  the  children  we  left  behind  us  had  been 
kindly  harboured  ;  them  indeed  I  found  in  perfect  health, 
but  that  and  every  other  joy  attendant  on  my  return  was 
at  once  extinguished  in  the  afflicting  persuasion,  that  I  had 
only  arrived  in  time  to  take  a  last  leave  of  my  dying  wife, 
who  was  then  in  the  crisis  of  a  most  violent  fever,  exhaust- 
ed, senseless  and  scarce  alive.  Many  florid  writers  would 
seize  the  opportunity  of  describing  scenes  of  this  sort ;  I  shall 
decline  it.  It  was  my  happy  lot  to  see  her  excellent  consti- 
tution surmount  the  shock,  and  to  witness  her  recovery  in 
her  native  air  by  the  blessing  of  Providence  and  the  unwea- 
ried attentions  of  her  hospitable  parents.  As  soon  as  she 
was  re-established  in  her  health,  we  removed  with  our  chil- 
dren to  Tyringham,  where  my  wife  had  left  her  infant  fel- 
low-traveller in  the  care  of  an  excellent  young  woman,  who 
from  the  day  of  our  marriage  to  the  day  of  her  death  lived 
with  me  and  my  family,  faithfully  attached  and  strictly  ful- 
filling every  part  of  her  duty. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  119 

A  short  time  before  Lord  Halifax  quitted  the  government 
of  Ireland,  in  which  he  was  succeeded  by  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
thumberland, a  vacancy  happened  in  the  bench  of  bishops, 
and  my  father  was  promoted  to  the  see  of  Cloftfert.  Tliis 
vacancy  fell  so  close  upon  the  expiration  of  Lord  Halifax's 
government,  that  great  efforts  M^ere  made  and  considerable 
interest  exerted  to  wrest  the  nomination  out  of  his  lordship's 
patronage,  and  throw  it  into  the  disposal  of  his  successor  ; 
it  was  proposed  to  recompense  my  father  by  preferment  of 
some  other  description  ;  but  this  was  firmly  resisted  by 
Lord  Halifax,  and  the  mitre  was  bestowed  upon  one,  who 
wore  it  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life  with  unblemished  reputa- 
tion, honoured,  beloved,  and  I  may  say  (almost  without  a 
figure)  adored  by  the  people  of  Ireland  for  his  benevolence, 
his  equity,  his  integrity,  and  every  virtue  that  could  make 
him  dear  to  his  fellow-creatures,  and  acceptable  to  his 
Creator. 

The  expectant,  who,  if  I  was  rightly  informed,  would 
have  obtained  the  bishopric  of  Clonfert  in  the  event  of  my 
father's  being  deprived  of  it,  has  had  reason  to  felicitate  him- 
self on  his  disappointment,  if  as  I  just  now  observed,  I  am  not 
mistaken  in  believing  Doctor  Markham  was  the  person, 
whose  happy  destiny  sent  my  father  to  Ireland,  and  reserved 
him  for  better  fortune  at  home,  and  higher  dignities  most 
worthily  bestowed  and  most  honourably  enjoyed. 

My  father  in  the  mean  time  had  returned  to  liis  vicarage 
of  Fulham,  and  sate  down  without  repining  at  the  issue  of 
his  expedition,  which  now  seemed  to  close  upon  him  with- 
out any  prospect  of  success,  when  I  hastened  to  impart  to 
him  the  intelligence  I  had  just  received  from  Secretary- 
Hamilton  whom  I  had  accidentally  crossed  upon  in  Parlia- 
ment-Street. He  received  it  in  his  calm  manner,  modestly 
remarking,  that  his  talents  were  not  turned  to  public  life, 
nor  did  he  foresee  any  material  advantages  likely  to  accrue 
to  such  as  belonged  to  him  from  his  promotion  to  an  Irish 
bishopric  ;  it  was  not  consistent,  he  said,  with  his  principles 
to  avail  himself  of  the  patronage  in  that  country  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  the  clergy  of  his  diocese,  and  of  course  he  must 
deny  himself  tlie  gratification  of  serving  his  friends  and  re- 
lations in  England,  if  any  such  should  solicit  him.  This  did 
happen  in  more  instances  than  one,  and  I  can  witness  with 
what  pain  he  withstood  requests,  which  he  would  have 
been  so  happy  to  have  complied  with ;  but  his  conscience 


120  MEMOIRS  OF 

was  a  rule  to  him,  and  he  never  deviated  from  it  in  a  single 
instance.  He  further  observed  in  the  course  of  this  con- 
versation vi^ith  me  what  I  have  before  noticed  in  my 
remarks  upon  Bishop  Cumberland's  appropriation  of  his 
episcopal  revenue,  and,  alluding  to  that  rule  as  laid 
down  by  his  grandfather,  expressed  his  approbation  of 
it,  and  sdd,  that  though  he  could  not  aspire  to  the  most 
distant  comparison  with  him  in  great  matters,  yet  he 
trusted  he  should  not  be  found  degenerate  in  principle  ; 
and  certainly  he  did  not  trust  in  himself  without  reason. 
In  conclusion  he  said,  that  having  visited  Ireland,  and  form- 
ed many  pleasing  and  respectable  connexions  there,  he  would 
quietly  wait  the  event  without  embarrassing  Lord  Halifax 
with  any  solicitation,  and  when  he  thought  he  perceived  me 
in  a  disposition  to  be  not  quite  so  tranquil  and  sedantary  in 
the  business,  he  positively  forbade  me  to  make  any  stir,  or 
give  Lord  Halifax  any  trouble  on  his  account — "  You  have 
"  shewn  you  moderation,"  added  he,  "  in  declining  the  title 
"  that  was  offered  to  you  ;  let  me  at  least  betray  no  eagerness 
*'  in  courting  that,  which  may  or  may  not  devolve  upon  me. 
"  Had  it  not  been  for  you  it  would  never  have  come  under 
''  my  contemplation  ;  I  should  still  have  remained  parson  of 
"  Stanwick,  but  the  same  circumstances,  that  have  drawn 
"  you  from  your  studies,  have  taken  me  from  my  solitude, 
"  and  if  you  c\re  thus  zealous  to  transport  me  and  your  mo  - 
"  ther  into  another  kingdom,  I  hope  you  will  be  not  less  so- 
"  licitous  to  visit  and  console  us  with  the  sight  of  you,  when 
"  we  are  there." 

I  bless  God  I  have  not  to  reproach  myself  with  neglecting 
this  tender  and  paternal  injunction.  Not  a  year  past  during 
my  father's  residence  in  Ireland  that  I  did  not  happily  de- 
vote some  months  of  it  to  the  fulfilment  of  this  duty,  always 
ticcompanied  by  my  wife,  and,  with  the  exception  of  one 
time  only,  by  some  part  of  my  young  family. 

In  a  few  days  after  this  conversation  I  was  authorized  to 
announce  to  my  father  his  nomination  to  the  bishopric  of 
Clonfert.  He  lost  no  time  in  arranging  his  affairs,  and  pre- 
paring for  his  departure  with  my  mother  and  my  younger 
sister,  then  unmarried.  Lord  Halifax  in  the  mean  time  had 
received  the  Seals  of  Secretary  of  State  :  he  had  to  name 
one  Under-Secretary  and  his  choice  fell  upon  a  gentleman 
of  the  name  of  Sedgewicke,  who  had  attended  upon  him  to 
Ireland  under  the  capacity  of  Master  of  the  Horse,  and  on 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  121 

tills  promotion  vacated  an  employ,  which  he  held  in  the 
Office  of  Trade  and  Plantations  under  the  denomination  of 
Clerk  of  the  Reports.  He  was  a  civil,  mannerly,  and  as  f{\r 
as  suited  him,  an  obsequious  little  gentleman  ;  fond  of  busi- 
ness, and  very  busy  in  it,  be  it  v»  hat  it  might  ;  his  trainhig 
had  been  in  oifice,  and  his  education  stamped  his  character 
with  marks,  that  could  not  be  mistaken  :  he  v/eTl  knev/  how 
to  follow  up  preferment  to  its  source,  and  though  the  w^aters 
of  that  spring  were  not  very  pure,  he  drank  devoutly  at  the 
fountain  head,  and  was  rewarded  for  his  perseverance. 

I  could  not  be  said  to  suffer  any  disappointment  on  the 
occasion  of  this  gentleman's  promotion  :  I  had  due  warning 
of  the  alternative,  that  presented  itself  to  my  choice.  I  had 
a  holding  on  Lord  Halifax,  founded  on  my  father's  mxcrits, 
and  a  long  and  faithful  attachment  on  my  own  part  ;  but  as 
I  had  hitherto  kept  the  straight  and  fair  track  in  following 
his  fortunes,  I  would  not  consent  to  deviate  into  indirect 
roads,  and  disgrace  myself  in  the  eyes  of  his  and  my  ov/n 
connexions,  who  would  have  marked  my  conduct  with  de- 
served contempt.  In  attending  upon  him  to  Irela.nd  I  had 
the  example  o^  Doctor  Crane  to  refer  to,  and  I  had  his  advice 
and  approbation  on  this  occasion  for  tendering  my  services, 
when  he  received  the  seals,  as  a  point  of  duty,  though  net 
with  any  expectation  of  my  tender  being  accepted.  The 
answer  was  exactly  what  I  looked  to  receive — cool  in  its 
terms,  repulsive  in  its  purport-—/  ivas  not  Jit  for  evcjy  situa* 
/2072— Nothing  could  be  more  true,  neither  did  I  oppose  a 
single  word  to  the  conviction  it  carried  with  it :  in  that  I  ac- 
quiesced respectfully  and  silently  ;  but  I  said  a  few  words 
in  thankful  acknowledgment  of  the  favour  he  had  conferred 
upon  my  father,  and  for  that,  which  I  had  received  in  my 
ov/n  person,  namely  the  Crown-Agency  of  Nova-Scotia. 
Perhaps  he  did  not  quite  expect  to  have  disposed  of  me  with 
so  little  trouble  to  himself,  for  my  manner  seemed  to  waken 
some  sensations,which  led  him  to  dilate  a  little  on  his  motives 
for  declining  to  employ  me,  inasmuch  as  I  did  not  speak 
French.  This  also  was  not  less  true  than  his  first  remark, 
for  as  certainly  as  I  was  not  fit  for  all  situations,  so  surely 
w^as  I  unfit  for  this,  if  speaking  French  fluently  (though  I  un- 
derstood it  as  a  language)  v/as  a  qualification  not  to  be  dis- 
pensed with.  In  short  I  admitted  this  objection  in  its  full 
force,  well  persuaded,  that  if  I  had  possesed  the  elegance 
and  perfection  of  Voltaire  himself  hi  that  language.  I  should 


122  MEMOIRS  OF 

not  have  been  a  step  nearer  to  the  office  in  question.  When 
we  know  ourselves  to  be  put  aside  for  reasons  that  do  not 
touch  the  character,  but  will  not  truly  be  revealed,  we  do 
well  to  acquiesce  in  the  very  fust  civil,  though  evasive,  a;^G- 
logy,  that  is  passed  upon  us  in  the  way  of  explanation. 

Finding  myself  thus  cast  out  of  employ,  and  Mr.  Sedge- 
wicke  in  possession  of  his  office,  I  began  to  think  it  might  be 
worth  my  Avhile  to  endeavour  at  succeeding  him  in  his  situ- 
ation at  the  Board  of  Trade,  and  submit  to  follow  him  as  he 
had  once  followed  and  now  passed  me  in  this  road  to  prefer- 
ment. After  above  eleven  years  attendance,  m.y  profit  was 
the  sole  attainment  of.^  place  of  two  hundred  pounds  per 
annum,  my  loss  was  that  of  the  expense  I  had  put  my  father 
to  for  my  support  and  maintenance  in  a  style  of  life,  very 
different  from  that  in  which  I  was  found  ;  this  expense  I 
bad  the  consolation  of  being  enabled  to  replace  to  my  father 
upon  the  receipt  of  my  wife's  fortune  ;  but  by  this  act  of 
justice  and  duty  so  gratifying  to  my  conscience  the  balance 
upon  30001.  which  was  the  portion  allotted  to  Miss  Ridge, 
was  very  inconsiderable  when  it  reached  me.  I  had  already 
three  children,  and  the  prospect  of  an  increasing  family  ; 
my  ftither's  bishopiuc  was  not  likely  to  benefit  me,  neither 
could  it  be  considered  as  a  compensation  for  my  services, 
inasmuch  as  the  past  exertions  of  his  influence  and  popula- 
rity in  Northamptonshire  might  fairly  give  him  a  claim  to 
ti  favour  not  less  than  that  of  appointing  him  second  chaplain 
lo  Doctor  Oswald,  who  was  a  perfect  stranger  to  his  lordship, 
till  introduced  and  recommended  by  his  brother  James. 
These  considerations  induced  me  to  hope  I  could  not  be 
thought  a  very  greedy  or  presumptuous  expectant,  when  I 
ventured  to  solicit  hini  in  competition  v/ith  a  gentleman,  who 
had  only  been  in  his  immediate  service  as  Master  of  Horse 
for  one  session  in  Ireland,  and  at  the  same  time  they  served 
as  motives  with  me  for  endeavouring  to  succeed  that  gen- 
tleman, v/hose  office,  if  I  could  obtain  it,  would  be  an  addi- 
tion to  my  income  of  two  hundred  per  annum.  The  Earl  of 
Jlillsborough  was  first  Lord  of  Trade  and  Plantations,  and 
being  an  intimate  friend  of  Lord  Halifax,  was,  I  presumed, 
not  indisposed  towards  me.  I  thereupon  went  to  Bushy 
Park  to  vmit  upon  Lord  Halifax,  and  communicated  to  him 
the  idea,  v/hich  had  occurred  to  me,  of  making  suit  for  the 
office,  that  Mr.  Scdgcwicke  had  vacated.  He  received  this 
ialimation  iu  a  manner  that  did  not  merely  denote  embaras'i- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  123 

ment,  it  made  it  doiibtfu]  to  me  whether  he  movant  to  take  it 
up  as  matter  of  offence,  or  turn  it  off' as  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence :  for  some  time  he  seemed  inclined  to  put  an  interpre- 
tation upon  the  measure  proposed  which  certainly  it  could  not 
bear,and  to  consider  it  as  an  abandonment  on  my  part  of  a  con- 
nexion, that  had  uninterruptedly  subsisted  for  so  many  years. 
When  a  very  few  words  on  my  part  convinced  him  lliat  this 
charge  could  not  lie  against  me,  he  stated  it  in  another  view, 
as  a  degradation,  v/hich  he  was  surprised  I  could  think  of 
submitting  to,  after  the  situation  I  had  stood  in  with  respect 
to  him :  this  was  easily  answered,  and  in  term.s,  that  could 
not  give  offence  ;  thus  v»^hilst  I  v/as  guarding  my  expressions 
from  any  semblance  of  disgust,  and  his  lordship  v/as  holding 
a  language,  that  could  not  come  from  his  heart,  wx  broke 
up  the  conference  without  any  other  decision,  than  of  refer- 
ing  it  to  my  own  choice  and  discretion,  as  a  measure  he 
neither  advised  nor  opposed. 

As  it  was  from  this  interview  vrith  the  noble  person,  to 
v/hom  1  had  attached  myself  for  so  longatermof  yeai^,  that 
.  my  future  line  in  life  took  a  new  direction,  I  could  not  pass 
it  over  in  silence  ;  but  though  my  mind  retains  the  memory 
of  many  particulars,  which,  if  my  own  credit  only  v/as  at 
stake,  I  should  be  forward  to  relate,  I  shall  forbear  ;  con- 
vinced, that  when  I  lost  the  favour  and  protection  of  that  no- 
ble person^  I  had  not  forfeited  his  real  good  opinion  ;  of  this 
truth  he  survived  to  give,  and  I  to  receive,  proofs,  that  could 
not  be  mistaken.  I  had  known  him  too  intimately  not  to 
know,  in  the  very  moment,  of  which  I  have  been  speaking, 
that  what  he  was  by  accident,  he  was  not  by  nature.  I  am 
persuaded  he  was  formed  to  be  a  good  man,  he  might  also 
have  been  a  great  one  :  his  mind  was  large,  his  spirit  active, 
his  ambition  honourable  :  he  had  a  carriage  noble  and  impo- 
sing ;  his  first  approach  attracted  notice,  his  consequent 
address  ensured  respect :  if  his  talents  were  not  quite  so 
solid  as  some,  nor  altogether  so  deep  as  others,  yet  they 
were  brilliant,  popular,  and  made  to  glitter  in  the  eyes  of 
men  :  splendour  was  his  passion  ;  his  good  fortune  thrcv.^ 
opportunities  in  his  way  to  have  supported  it ;  his  ill  fortune 
blasted  all  those  energies,  which  should  have  been  reserved 
for  the  crisis  of  his  public  fame  ;  the  first  offices  of  the  state, 
the  highest  honours  which  his  sovereign  could  bestov/  v»'cre 
showered  upon  him,  when  the  spring  of  his  mind  was  bro- 
ken, and  his  genius,  like  a  vessel  overloaded  with  treasure^^ 


124  MEMOIRS  OF 

but  far  gone  in  decay,  ^^?.s  only  precipitated  to  ruin  by  the 
very  freight,  that  in  its  better  days  would  have  crowned  it 
v.ith  prosperity  and  riches. 

I  noY/  addressed  a  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Hiilsboroug;h,  ten- 
dering my  humble  services  in  Mr.  Sedgevvicke's  room,  and 
was  accepted  without  hesitation.  Thus  I  entered  upon  an 
office,  the  duties  of  v/hich  consisted  of  taking  minutes  of  the 
ilebates  and  proceedings  of  the  Board,  and  preparing  for 
their  a])probation  and  signature  such  reports,  as  they  should 
direct  to  be  drawn  up  for  his  Majesty,  or  the  Council,  and, 
on  some  occasions,  for  the  Board  of  Treasury^,  or  Secretaries 
of  State.  It  was  at  mxost  an  office  of  no  great  labour,  but  as 
Mr.  Pownall,  now  actual  Secretary,  was  much  in  the  habit 
of  digesting  these  reports  himself,  my  task  was  greatly  light- 
ened, and  I  had  leisure  to  address  myself  to  other  studies, 
and  indulge  my  propensities  towards  composition  in  whatev- 
er way  they  might  incline  me  to  employ  them. 

Bickerstaff  having  at  this  time  brought  out  his  operas  of 
I.dve  in  a  Village  and  TheMaid  of  the  Mill  with  great  success, 
some  friends  persuaded  me  to  attempt  a  drama  of  that  sort, 
and  engaged  Simpson,  conductor  of  the  band  at  Covent 
Garden  and  a  performer  on  the  hautboy,  to  compile  the  airs 
and  adapt  them  to  the  stage.  With  very  little  knowledge 
of  stage  effect,  and  as  little  forethought  about  plot,  incident, 
or  character,  I  sate  dovm  to  write,  and  soon  produced  a 
thing  in  three  acts,  which  I  named  the  Summer's  Tale, 
though  it  was  a  tale  about  nothing  and  very  inaifferently 
told  ;  however,  being  a  vehicle  for  some  songs,  not  despi- 
cably written,  and  some  of  these  very  well  set,  it  was  car- 
ried by  my  friends  to  Beard,  then  manager  of  the  theatre,  and 
accepted  for  representation.  My  friends,  who  were  critics 
merely  in  music,  took  as  little  concern  about  revising  the  dra- 
ma, as  I  took  pains  hi  writing  it ;  they  brought  me  the  music 
of  old  songs,  and  I  adapted  words  to  it,  and  w^ove  them  into  the 
piece,  as  I  could.  I  sav/,  hovv  ever,  how  very  ill  this  plan  was 
adapted  for  any  credit,  that  could  be  expected  to  accrue  to 
me  from  my  share  in  it,  and  to  mark  how  iittie  conhdence  I 
placed  in  the  composition  of  the  drama,  I  affixed  as  motto 
to  the  title  page  the  following  words — Fox,  et  praterca  nihiL 
Abel  furnished  the  overture,  Bach,  Doctor  Arne  and  Ar- 
Hold  supplied  some  original  compositions  ;  Beard,  Miss 
Brent,  (then  in  high  reputation)  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mattocks 
and  Shuter  filled  the  principal  characters.     It  was  perform-* 


RICHARD  CUMBERLANET.  125 

y 

ednine  or  ten  nights  to  moderate  houses  without  opp05ition7 
and  very  deservedly  Avithout  much  applause,  except  what 
the  execution  of  the  vocal  performers,  and  some  brilliant 
compositions  justly  obtained ;  but  even  with  these  it  was 
rather  over-loaded,  and  was  not  sufficiently  contrasted  and 
I'elieved  by  familiar  airs. 

The  fund  for  the  support  of  decayed  actors  being  then  re- 
cently established  by  the  company  of  Co  vent  Garden  thea- 
tre, I  appropriated  the  receipts  of  my  ninth  night  to  that  be- 
nevolent institution,  which  the  conductors  were  pleased  to 
receive  with  much  good  will,  and  have  honoured  me  with 
their  remembrance  at  their  annual  audits  ever  since. 

The  Summer's  Tale  was  published  by  Mr.  Dodsley,  and 
as  I  received  no  complaint  from  him  on  account  of  the  sale, 
I  hope  that  liberal  pvirchaser  of  the  copy  had  no  particular 
reason  to  be  discontented  with  his  bargain. 

Bickerstaff,  who  had  established  himself  in  the  public  fa-^ 
vour  by  the  success  of  his  operas  above-mentioned,  seem,ed 
to  consider  me  as  an  intruder  upon  his  province,  wdtli  w^hom 
he  was  to  keep  no  terms,  and  he  set  all  engines  of  abuse  ta 
work  upon  me  and  my  poor  drama,  AvhiJst  it  Avas  yet  in  re- 
hearsal, notrepressing  his  acrimony  till  it  had  been  before 
the  public  ;  when  to  have  discussed  it  in  the  spirit  of  fair 
criticism  might  have  afforded  him  full  m?ttter  of  triumph, 
without  convicting  him  of  any  previous  malice  or  personality 
against  an  unoffending  author.  I  was  no  sooner  put  in  pos- 
session of  the  proofs  against  him,  which  wxre  exceedingly 
gross,  than  I  remonstrated  by  letter  to  him  against  his  un- 
candid  proceeding  ;  I  have  no  copy  of  that  letter  ;  I  wish  I 
had  preserved  it,  as  it  would  be  in  proof  to  show  that  my  dis- 
position to  live  in  harmony  witli  my  contemporaries  was,  at 
my  very  outset  as  a  writer  lor  the  stage,  what  it  has  uniform- 
ly been  to  the  present  hour,  and  that,  although  this  attack 
v/as  one  of  the  most  virulent  and  unfidr  ever  made  upon  me,, 
yet  I  no  otherwise  appealed  against  it,  than  by  tellmg  him^ 
"  That  if  his  contempt  of  my  performance  w^as  really  what 
"  he  professed  it  to  be,  he  had  no  need  to  fear  me  as  a  rival,. 
"  and  might  relax  from  his  intemperraice  ;  on  tlie  contrary, 
"  if  alarm  forhisow'U  interest  had  any  share  in  tl^e  motives 
"  for  his  animosity,  I  was  perfectly  ready  to  purchase  his. 
"  peace  of  mind  and  good  will  by  the  sacrifice  of  those  emol-- 
**  urnents,  which  might  eventually  accrue  from  my  niglits.  iii 
^'  Jiny  such  way  as  might  relieve  his  anxiety,  and  coiiviai^^^ 


126  MEMOIRS  OF 

"  him  of  my  entire  disinterestedness  in  commencing  aii- 
*'  thor  ;  adding  in  conclusion,  theit  he  might  assure  himself 
"  he  would  never  hear  of  me  again  as  a  writer  of  operas." 
Tliis  I  can  perfectly  recollect  was  the  purport  of  my  letter, 
which  I  dictated  in  the  belief  of  what  was  reported  to  me  as 
an  apology  for  his  conduct,  ajid  entirely  ascribed  his  hostili- 
ty to  his  alarm  on  the  score  of  interest,  and  not  to  the  evil 
temper  of  his  mind.  This  was  the  interpretation  I  put  upon 
what  Mr.  Bickerstaif  had  wiitten  of  me,  and  my  real  motive 
for  what  I  wrote  to  him :  I  understood  he  was  wholly  de- 
pendant on  the  stage,  and  that  the  necessity  of  his  circum- 
stances made  him  bitter  against  any  one,  who  stept  forward 
to  divide  the  favour  of  the  public  with  him.  To  insult  his 
poverty,  or  presume  on  my  advantage  over  him  in  respect 
of  circumstances,  was  a  thought  that  never  found  admission 
into  my  heart,  nor  did  Bickerstaff  himself  so  construe  my 
letter,  or  suspect  me  of  such  baseness  ;  for  Mr.  Garrick  af- 
terwards informed  me  that  Bickerstaff  shewed  this  letter  to 
him  as  an  appeal  to  his  feelings  of  such  a  nature,  as  ought  to 
put  him  to'  silence  ;  and  when  IMr.  Garrick  represented  to 
him,  that  he  also  saw  it  in  that  light,  he  did  not  scruple  to 
confess  that  his  attack  had  been  unfliir,  and  that  he  should 
never  repeat  it  against  me  or  my  productions.  I  led  him 
into  no  further  temptations,  for  whilst  he  continued  to  sup- 
ply the  stage  with  musical  pieces,  I  turned  my  thoughts  to 
dramas  of  another  cast,  and  we  interfered  no  longer  with 
each  other's  labours. 

One  day  as  I  was  leaving  the  theatre  after  a  rehearsal  of 
the  Summer's  Tale,  I  was  met  by  Mr.  Smith,  then  engaged 
at  Covent  Garden,  and  whom  I  had  known  at  the  Univer- 
sity, as  an  Under-graduate  of  Saint  John's  College.  We 
iiad  of  course  some  conversation,  during  v/hich  he  had  the 
kindi>ess  to  remonstrate  with  me  upon  the  business  I  was 
engaged  in^  politely  saying,  that  I  ought  to  turn  my  talents 
to  compositions  of  a  more  independent  and  a  higher  charac- 
ter ;  predicting  to  me,  that  I  should  reap  neither  fame  nor 
satisfaction  in  the  operatic  department,  and  demanding  of 
me,  in  a  tone  of  encouragement,  why  I  would  not  rather  aim 
at  writmg  a  good  comedy,  than  dabbling  in  these  sing-song 
pieces.  The  animating  spirit  of  this  friendly  remonstrance, 
and  the  full  persuasion  that  he  predicted  truly  of  the  charac- 
ter arid  consequences  of  my  undertaking  then  on  foot,  made 
a  sensible  impression  on  my  mind,  and  mthe  warmth  of  the 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  127 

moment  I  formed  my  resolution  to  attempt  the  arduous  pro- 
ject he  had  pomted  out  If  my  old  frieud  and  contemporary 
ever  reads  this  page,  perhaps  he  can  call  to  mind  the  conver-' 
sation  I  allude  to  ;  though  he  has  not  the  same  reasons  to 
keep  in  his  remembrance  this  circumstance,  as  I  have,  who 
was  the  party  favoured  and  obliged,  yet  I  hope  he  will  at  all 
events  believe  that  I  record  it  truly  as  to  the  fact,  and  grate- 
fully for  the  effects  of  it.  As  his  friend,  I  have  lived  with 
him,  and  shared  his  gentlemanly  hospitality  ;  as  his  author, 
I  have  witnessed  his  abilities,  and  profited  by  his  support ; 
and  though  I  have  lost  sight  of  him  ever  since  his  retirement 
from  the  stage,  yet  I  have  ever  retained  at  heart  an  interest 
in  his  welfare,  and  as  he  and  I  are  too  nearly  of  an  age  to 
flatter  ourselves,  that  we  have  any  very  long  continuance  to 
come  upon  the  stage  of  this  life,  I  beg  leave  to  make  this 
public  profession  of  my  sincere  regard  for  him,  and  to  pay 
the  tribute  of  my  plaudits  now,  before  he  makes  his  final 
exit  and  the  curtain  drops. 

Before  I  had  ushered  my  melodious  nonsense  to  the  audi- 
ence, I  had  clearly  discovered  the  w^eakness  of  the  tame  and 
lifeless  fable  on  which  I  had  founded  it ;  there  were  still 
some  scenes  between  the  characters  of  Henry  and  Amelia, 
which  were  tolerably  conceived,  and  had  preserved  them- 
selves a  place  in  the  good  opinion  of  the  audience  by  the 
simplicity  of  the  style,  and  the  address  of  Mrs.  Mattocks  and 
Mr.  Dyer,  to  whom  those  parts  wxre  allotted.  It  was  there- 
upon thought  adviseable  to  cut  dow^n  the  Summer's  Tale  to 
an  after-piece  of  two  acts,  and  exhibit  it  in  the  next  season 
under  the  title  of  Amelia.  In  this  state  it  stood  its  groundjand 
took  its  turn  with  very  tolerable  success  "  behind  the  fore- 
"  most  and  before  the  last."  Simpson  published  the  music 
in  a  collection,  and  I  believe  he  got  home  pretty  well  upon 
the  sale  of  it.  The  good  judges  of  that  time  thought  it  good 
music,  but  the  better  judges  of  this  time  would  probably 
think  it  good  for  nothing-. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  as  soon  as  the  Board  of  Trade 
broke  up  for  tiieir  usual  recess,  I  went  witii  my  wife  and 
part  of  my  young  family  to  pay  my  duty  and  fullil  my  pro- 
mise to  my  father  and  motI>er  in  Ireland.  They  v/c.ited  for 
us  in  Dublin,  where  my  father  had  taken  the  late  Bisliop  of 
Meath's  house  in  Kildare-Street,  next  door  o  the  Duke  of 
Leinster's.  When  we  had  reposed  ourselves  for  a  few  days, 
after  the  fatigues  of  a  turbulent  passage,  we  ?J1  set  off  for 


128  MEMOIRS  OF 

Clonfert  in  the  county  of  Galway.  Every  body,  who  ha^ 
travelled  in  Ireland,  and  witnessed  the  wretched  accommo- 
dations of  the  hi  ns,  particularly  in  the  west,  knows  that  it 
requires  some  forecast  and  preparation  ^o  conduct  a  large 
family  on  their  journey.  It  certiunly  is  as  different  from  tra- 
velling in  England  as  possible,  and  not  much  unlike  travel- 
ling in  Spain  ;  but  with  my  father  for  our  provider,  whose 
appointments  of  servants  &  equipage  were  ever  excellent,  we 
eould  feel  few  wants,  and  arrived  in  good  time  at  our  jour^ 
ney's  end,  where  upon  the  banks  of  the  great  river  Shannon, 
in  a  nook  of  land,  on  all  sides,  save  one,  surrounded  by  an 
impassable  bog,  we  found  the  episcopal  residence,  by  cour- 
tesy called  palace,  and  the  churchof  Clonfert,  by  custom  cal- 
led cathedral.  This  humble  residence  was  not  devoid  of 
comfort  and  convenience,  for  it  contained  some  tolerable 
lodging  rooms,  and  was  capacious  enough  to  receive  me  and 
mine  without  straitening  the  family.  A  garden  of  seven 
acres,  well  planted  and  disposed  into  pleasant  walks,  kept  in 
the  neatest  order,  was  attached  to  the  house,  and  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  a  broad  gravel  walk  in  front  stood  the  cathedraL 
Within  this  boundary  the  scene  was  cheerful ;  all  without 
it  was  either  impenetrable  bog,  or  a  dreary  undressed  coun- 
try ;  but  whilst  all  was  harmony,  hospitctlity  and  affection 
underneath  the  parental  roof,  ^^  the  mind  was  its  own  place," 
and  every  hour  was  happy.  My  father  lived,  as  he  had  ever 
done,  beloved  by  all  around  him  ;  the  same  benevolent  and 
generous  spirit,  which  had  endeared  him  to  his  neighbours 
and  parishioners  in  England,now  began  to  make  the  like  im- 
pressions on  the  hearts  of  a  people  as  far  different  in  charac- 
ter, as  they  were  distant  in  place,  from  those,  whom  he  had 
till  now  been  concerned  with.  Without  descending  fron^ 
the  dignity  he  had  to  support,  and  condescending  to  any  of 
the  paltry  modes  of  courting  popularity,  I  instantly  perceiv- 
ed how  high  he  stood  in  their  esteem  ;  these  observations  I 
was  perfectly  in  the  way  to  make,  for  I  had  no  forms  to  keep, 
and  was  withal  uncommonly  delighted  with  their  wild  eccen- 
tric humours,  mixing  with  all  ranks  and  descriptions  of  men, 
to  my  infinite  amusement.  If  I  have  been  successful  in  my 
dramatic  sketches  of  the  Irish  character,  it  was  here  I  studied 
it  in  its  purest  and  most  primitive  state  :  from  high  to  low  it 
was  no v/  under  my  view.  Though  I  strove  to  present  it  in  its 
fairest  and  best  light  upon  the  stage,  truth  obliges  me  to 
confess  there  Y/as  aBother  side  of  the  picture,  which  c.Qul4.j 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  129 

not  have  been  contemplated  w  ithout  affright  and  horror  1 
Attrocides  and  violences,  which  set  all  law  and  justice  at 
deiiance,  were  occasionally  committed  in  this  savage  and 
licentious  quarter,  and  suffered  to  pass  over  with  impunity. 
In  the  neighbouring  town  of  Eyre  Court,  they  had  by  long 
usage  assumed  to  themselves  certain  local  and  self-consti- 
tuted privileges  and  exemptions,  which  rendered  it  unap- 
proachable by  any  officers  or  emissaries  of  the  civil  power, 
who  were  universally  denounced  as  mad  dogs,  and  subjected 
to  be  treated  as  such,  and  even  put  to  death  with  as  little 
ceremony  or  remorse.  I  speak  of  what  actually  occurred 
within  my  own  immediate  knowledge,  whilst  I  resided  with 
my  father,  in  more  instances  than  one,  and  those  instances 
would  be  shocking  to  relate.  To  stem  these  daring  outra- 
ii;es,  and  to  stand  in  opposition  to  these  barbarous  customs, 
was  an  undertaking,  that  demanded  both  Phiianthrophy  and 
courage,  and  my  father  of  course  was  the  very  man  to  at- 
tempt it.  Justice  and  generosity  were  the  instruments  he 
employed,  and  I  saw  the  work  of  reformation  so  auspicious- 
ly begun,  and  so  steadily  pursued  by  him,  as  convinced  me 
that  minds  the  most  degenerate  may  be  to  a  degree  reclaim- 
ed by  actions,  that  come  home  to  their  feelings,  and  are  evi- 
dently directed  to  the  sole  purposes  of  amending  their  man- 
ners, and  improving  their  condition.  To  suppose  they  were  a 
race  of  bemgs  stupidly  vicious,  devoid  of  sensibility,  and  de- 
livered over  by  their  natural  inertness  to  barbarism  and  ig- 
norance, would  be  the  very  falsest  character  that  could  be 
conceived  of  them  :  it  is  on  the  contrary  to  the  quickness 
of  their  apprehensive  faculties,  to  the  precipitancy  and  un- 
restrained vivacity  of  their  talents  and  passions,  that  we  must 
look  for  the  causes,  and  in  some  degree  for  the  excuse  of 
their  excesses  :  together  with  their  ferocious  propensities 
there  are  blended  and  compoundtid  humours  so  truly  comic, 
eccentricities  so  peculiar,  and  attachments  and  affections  at 
times  so  inconceivably  ardent  that  it  is  not  possible  to  con- 
jtempiate  them  in  their  natural  characters  without  being  di- 
verted by  extravagancies,  which  we  cannot  seriously  ap- 
prove, and  captivated  by  professions,  which  we  cannot  im- 
plicitly give  credit  to. 

The  bishop  held  a  considerable  parcel  of  land,  arable  and 
grazing  in  his  hands,  or  more  properly  speaking  in  the 
phrase  of  the  country,  a  large  demesne,  with  a  numerous 
tribe  of  labourers,  gardeners,  turf-cutters,  herdsmen  and 


130  MEMOIRS  OF 

handicraft-men  of  various  denominations.  Kis  first  object, 
and  that  not  an  easy  one  to  attain,  was  to  induce  them  to  pur- 
sue the  same  methods  of  husbandry  as  were  practised  in 
England,  and  to  observe  the  same  neat  and  cleanly  course 
of  cultivation.  This  was  a  great  point  gdned  ;  they  began 
it  with  unwillingness,  and  watched  it  with  suspicion  ;  their 
idle  neighbours,  who  were  without  employ,  ridiculed  the 
work,  and  predicted  that  their  hay  stacks  would  take  fire, 
and  their  corn  be  rendered  ui\fit  for  use  ;  but  in  the  further 
course  of  time,  when  they  experienced  the  advantages  of 
this  process,  and  witnessed  the  striking  contrast  of  these 
productive  lands,  compared  with  the  slovenly  grounds  a- 
round  them,  they  began  to  acknowledge  their  own  errors 
and  to  reform  them.  With  these  operations  the  improve- 
ments of  their  own  habitatiohs  were  contrived  to  keep  pace  ; 
their  cabins  soon  wore  a  more  comfortable  and  decent  ap- 
pearance ;  they  furnished  them  v/ith  chimneys,  and  emer- 
ged out  of  the  smoke,  in  which  they  had  hurried  and  suffo- 
cated their  families  and  themselves.  When  these  old  habits 
were  corrected  v\dthin  doors,  on  the  outside  of  every  one  of 
them  there  was  to  be  seen  a  stack  of  hay,  m.ade  in  the  Eng- 
lish fashion,  thatched  and  secured  from  the  weather,  and  a 
lot  of  potatoes  carefully  planted  and  kept  clean,  which,  with 
a  suitable  proportion  of  turf,  secured  the  year's  provision 
both  for  man  and  beast.  When  these  comforts  were  placed 
in  their  view,  they  were  easily  led  to  turn  tlieir  attention  to 
the  better  appearance  of  their  person,  and  this  reform  v/as 
not  a  little  furthered  by  the  premium  of  a  Sunday's  dinner  to 
all,  who  should  present  themselves  in  clean  linen  and  with 
well-combed  hair,  without  the  customary  addition  of  a  scare- 
crow wig,  so  that  the  sv/arthy  Milesion  no  longer  appeared 
with  SI  yellow  vvig  upon  his  coal-black  hair,  nor  the  yellow 
Dane  with  a  coal-black  wig  upon  his  long  red  locks  :  the  old 
barbarous  custom  also  of  working  in  a  great  coat  loosely 
thrown  over  the  shoulders,  with  the  sleeves  dangling  by 
the  sides,  was  now  dismissed,  and  the  bishop's  labourers 
turned  into  the  field,  stript  to  their  shirts,  proud  to  shew 
themselves  in  whole  linen,  so  that  in  them  vanity  oper- 
ated as  a  virtue,  and  piqued  them  to  excel  in  industry, 
as  much  as  they  did  in  appearance.  As  for  me,  I  was 
so  delighted  with  contemplating  a  kind  of  new  creation,  of 
which  my  father  was  the  author,  that  I  devoted  the  great- 
est portion  of  my  time  to  his  works,  and  had  full  powers  ta 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  131 

prosecute  his  good  intentions  to  whatever  extent  I  might 
lind  opportunities  for  carrying  them.  This  commission 
was  to  me  most  gratifying,  nor  have  any  hours  in  my  past 
life  been  more  truly  satisfactory,  than  those  in  which  I  was 
thus  occupied  as  the  administrator  of  his  unbounded  bene- 
volence to  his  dependant  fellow  creatures.  My  father  being 
one  of  the  governors  of  the  Linen  Board,  availed  himself 
also  of  the  opportunity  for  introducing  a  branch  of  that  valu- 
able manufacture  in  his  neighbourhood,  and  a  great  number 
of  spinning-wheels  were  distributed,  and  much  good  linen 
made  in  consequence  of  that  measure.  The  superin tend- 
ance of  this  improving  manufacture  furnished  an  interesting 
occupation  to  my  mother's  active  mind,  and  it  flourished  un- 
der her  care. 

In  the  month  of  October  my  father  removed  his  family  to 
Dublin,  and  from  thence  I  returned  to  resume  my  official 
duty  at  the  Board  of  Trade.  In  the  course  of  this  winter  I 
brought  out  my  first  comedy,  entitled  The  Brothers^  at  Co- 
vent-Garden  theatre,  then  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Harris 
and  his  associates,  joint  proprietors  with  him.  I  had  WTit- 
ten  this  play,  after  my  desultory  manner,  at  such  short  pe- 
riods of  time  and  leisure,  as  I  could  snatch  from  business  or 
the  society  of  my  family,  and  sometimes  even  in  the  midst 
of  both,  for  I  could  then  form  whole  scenes  in  my  memory, 
and  afterwards  write  them  down  when  opportunity  afforded  ; 
neither  was  it  any  interruption,  if  my  children  were  playing 
about  ine  in  the  room.  I  believe  I  was  indebted  to  Mr. 
Harris  singly  for  the  kind  reception,  which  this  offer  met  ; 
for  if  I  rightly  remember  what  passed  on  that  occasion,  my 
Brothers  were  not  equally  acceptable  to  his  brethren  as  to 
him.  He  took  it  however  with  all  its  responsibility,  sup- 
ported it  and  cast  it  with  the  best  strength  of  his  company. 
Woodward  in  the  part  of  Ironsides,  and  Yates  in  that  of  Sir 
Benjamin  Dove,  were  actors,  that  could  keep  their  scene 
alive,  if  any  life  was  in  it  :  Quick,  then  a  young  performer, 
took  the  part  of  Skiff,  and  my  friend  Smith,  who  had  prompt- 
ed me  to  the  undertaking,  was  the  young  man  of  the  piece  ; 
Mrs.  Green  performed  Lady  Dove,  and  ilrs.  Yates  was  the 
heroine  Sophia. 

The  play  was  successful,  and  I  believe  I  may  say  that  it 
brought  some  advantage  to  the  theatre  as  well  as  some  re- 
putation to  its  author.  It  has  been  much  played  on  the  pro- 
vincial stagesj  and  occasionally  revived  on  the  royal  ones. — 


132  MEMOIIIS  or 

There  are  stiR  such  excellent  successors  in  the  line  of  Yates 
and  Woodward  to  be  found  in  both  theatres,  that  perhaps  it 
would  not  even  now  be  a  loss  of  labour,  if  they  took  it  up 
afresh.  I  recollect  that  I  borrowed  the  hint  of  Sir  Benja- 
min's assumed  valour  upon  being  forced  into  a  rencounter, 
from  one  of  the  old  comedies,  and  if  I  conjecture  rightly,  it 
is  The  Little  French  Lawyer.  It  may  be  said  of  this  comedy 
as  it  may  of  most,  it  has  some  merits  and  some  faults  ;  it  has 
its  scenes  that  tell,  and  its  scenes  that  tire  ;  a  start  of  charac- 
ter, such  as  that  of  the  tame  Sir  Benjamin,  is  always  a  strik- 
ing incident  in  the  construction  of  a  drama,  ajid  when  a  re- 
volution of  that  sort  can  be  brought  about  without  violence 
to  nature,  and  for  purposes  essential  to  the  plot,  it  is  a  point 
of  art  well  worthy  the  attention  and  study  of  a  writer  for  the 
stage.  The  comedy  oiRule  a  Wife  and  have  a  Wlfe^  and  par- 
ticularly that  of  Massinger'sOVt/  Madam^  are  strong  instances 
in  point.  It  is  to  be  wished  that  some  man  of  experience  in 
stage  effect  would  adapt  the  latter  of  these  comedies  to  re- 
presentation. 

Garrick  was  in  the  house  at  the  first  night  of  the  Brothers, 
and  as  I  was  planted  in  the  back  seat  of  an  upper  box,  oppo- 
site to  where  he  sa.te,  I  could  not  but  remark  his  action  of 
surprise  when  Mrs.  Yates  opened  the  epilogue  with  the  fol- 
lowing lines — 

"  Who  but  hath  seen  the  celebrated  strife, 
"  Where  Reynolds  calls  the  canvass  into  life, 
"  And  'twixt  the  tragic  and  the  comic  muse, 
"  Courted  of  both,  and  dubious  where  to  chuse, 
"  Th'  immortal  actor  stands — ? 
My  friend   Fitzherbert,  father  of  Lord   St.  Helen,  was 
then  wit4i   Garrick,  and  came  from  his  box  to  me  across 
the  house  to  tell  me,  that  the  immortal  actor  had  been  taken 
by  surprise,  but  was  not  displeased  with  the  unexpected 
compliment  from  an  author,  with  whom  he  had  supposed 
he  did  not  stand  upon  the  best  terms  :  alluding  no  doubt 
to  his  transaction  with  Lord  Halifax  respecting  the  Banish- 
ment of  Cicero.     From  this  time  Mr.  Garrick  took  pains 
to  cultivate   an   acquaintance,  w^hich  he  had  hitherto  ne- 
glected, and  after   Mr.  Fitzherbert  had  brought  us  toge- 
ther  at   his   house   we  interchanged   visits,  and  it  is  no- 
thing  m.ore  than  natural   to  confess  I  was  charmed  with 
his  company  and  flattered  by  his  attentions.     I  had  a  house 
in  Queen-Anne-Street,  and  he  then  lived  in  Southampton- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  133 

Street  Covent  Garden,  where  I  frequently  went  to  him  ;jnd 
sometimes  accompanied  him  to  his  pleasant  villa  at  Hamp- 
ton. In  the  mean  time,  whilst  I  was  thus  fortunate  in  con- 
ciliating to  myself  one  eminent  person  by  my  epilogue,  I 
soon  discovered  to  my  regret  how  many  I  had  offended  by 
my  prologue.  A  host  of  newspaper-writers  fell  upon  me  for 
the  pertness  and  general  satire  of  that  incautious  composi- 
tion, and  I  found  myself  assailed  from  various  quarters 
with  unmitigated  acrimony.  I  made  no  defence,  and  the 
only  one  I  had  to  make  would  hardly  have  brought  me  off, 
for  I  could  have  opposed  nothing  to  their  charge  against  me, 
but  the  simple  and  sincere  assertion  that  I  alluded  personally 
to  no  man,  and  being  little  versed  in  the  mock-modesty  of 
modern  addresses  to  the  audience,  took  the  old  style  of  pro- 
logue for  my  model,  and  put  a  bold  countenance  upon  a  bold 
adventure.  Numerous  examples  were  before  me  of  pro- 
logues arrogant  in  the  extreme  ;  Johnson  abounds  in  such 
instances,  but  I  did  not  advert  sufficiently  to  the  change, 
which  time  had  wrought  in  the  circumstances  of  the  drama- 
tic poet,  and  how  much  it  behoved  him  to  lower  his  tone  in 
the  hearing  of  his  audience  :  neither  did  Smith,  who  was 
speaker  of  the  prologue,  and  an  experienced  actor,  warn  me 
of  any  danger  in  the  lines  he  undertook  to  deliver.  In  short, 
mine  was  the  error  of  inexperience,  and  their  efforts  to  re- 
buff me  only  gave  a  fresh  spring  to  my  exertions,  for  I  can 
truly  say,  that,  although  I  have  been  annoyed  by  detraction, 
it  never  had  the  property  of  depressing  me.  I  was  silly 
enough  to  send  this  comedy  into  the  world  with  a  dedication 
to  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  a  man  with  whom  I  had  not  the 
slightest  acquaintance,  nor  did  I  seek  to  establish  any  upon 
the  merit  of  this  address  :  he  was  Chancellor  of  the  Univer- 
sity at  Cambridge,  and  this  was  my  sole  motive  for  inscrib- 
ing my  first  comedy  to  him.  As  for  the  play  itself,  whilst 
the  prologue  and  the  prologue's  author  run  the  gauntlet,  that 
kept  possession  of  the  stage,  and  Woodward  and  Yates  lost 
no  credit  by  the  support  they  gave  it. 

I  will  not  trouble  the  reader  Vv'ith  many  apologies  or  ap- 
peals, yet  just  now  whilst  I  am  beginnineto  introduce  a  long 
list  of  dramas,such  as  I  presume  no  English  author  has  equal- 
led m /20m?  of  number^  I  would  fain  intercede  for  a  candid  in- 
terpretation of  my  labours,  and  recomm.end  my  memory  to 
posterity  for  protection  after  death  from  tiiose  unhandsojiie 
cavils,  vrhich  I  have  patiently  endured  wlxilst  living. 


134  MEMOIRS  OF 

I  am  not  to  learn  that  dramatic  authors  are  to  arm  them- 
selves with  fortitude  before  they  take  a  post  so  open  to  at- 
tack ;  they,  who  are  to  act  in  the  public  eye,  and  speak  in 
the  public  ear,  have  no  right  to  expect  a  very  smooth  and 
peaceful  career.  I  have  had  my  full  share  of  success,  and  I 
trust  I  have  paid  my  tax  for  it  always  without  mutiny,  and 
very  generally  without  murmuring.  I  have  never  irritated 
the  toAvn  by  making  a  sturdy  stand  against  their  opposition, 
^vhen  they  have  been  pleased  to  point  it  against  any  one  of 
my  productions  :  I  never  failed  to  withdraw  myself  oii  the 
very  first  intimation  that  I  was  unwelcome,  and  the  only  of- 
fence I  have  been  guilty  of  is,  that  I  have  not  always  thought 
the  worse  of  a  composition  only  because  the  public  did  not 
think  well  of  it.  I  solemnly  protest  that  I  have  never  writ- 
ten, or  caused  to  be  written,  a  single  line  to  puff  and  praise 
myself^  or  to  decry  a  brother  dramatist,  since  I  had  life  ;  of 
all  such  anonymous  and  mean  manoeuvres  I  am  clearly  in- 
nocent and  proudly  disdainful ;  I  have  stood  firm  for  the 
corps,  into  which  I  enrolled  myself,  and  never  disgraced 
my  colours  by  abandoning  the  cause  of  the  legitimate  comedy^ 
to  whose  service  I  am  sworn,  and  in  whose  defence  I  have 
kept  the  field  for  nearly  half  a  century,  till  at  last  I  have  sur- 
vived all  true  national  taste,  and  lived  to  see  buffoonery, 
spectacle,  and  puerility  so  effectually  triumphant,  that  now 
to  be  repulsed  from  the  stage  is  to  be  recommended  to  the 
closet,  and  to  be  applauded  by  the  theatre  is  little  else  than 
a  passport  to  the  puppet-show.  I  only  say  what  every  body 
knows  to  be  true  :  I  do  not  write  from  personal  motives,  for 
I  have  no  more  cause  for  complaint  than  is  common  to  many 
of  my  brethren  of  the  corps.  It  is  not  my  single  misfor- 
tur.e  to  have  been  accused  of  vanity,  which  I  did  not  feel, 
of  satires,  which  I  did  not  write,  and  of  invectives,  which  I 
disciained  even  to  meditate.  It  stands  recorded  of  me  in  a 
review  to  this  hour,  that  on  the  first  night  of  The  School  for 
Scandal  I  was  overheard  in  the  lobby  endeavouring  to  decry 
and  cavil  at  that  excellent  comedy  :  I  gave  my  accuser  proof 
positive  that  1  v/as  at  Bath  during  the  time  of  its  first  run, 
never  saw  it  during  its  first  season,  and  exhibited  my  pocket- 
journal  in  confirmation  of  my  alibi :  the  gentleman  was  con- 
vinced of  my  innocence,  but  as  he  had  no  opportunity  of 
correcting  his  libel,  every  body  that  read  it  remains  convinc- 
ed of  my  guilt.  Now  as  none,  who  ever  heard  my  name, 
will  fiil  to  Suppose  I  must  have  said  what  is  imputed  to  me 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  135 

in  bitterness  of  heart,  not  from  defect  in  head,  this  false  as- 
persion of  my  character  was  cruel  and  injurious  in  the  ex- 
treme. I  hold  it  right  to  explain  that  the  reviewer  I  am 
speaking  of  has  been  long  since  dead. 

In  the  ensuing  year  I  again  p:ud  a  visit  to  my  father  at 
Clonfert,  and  there  in  a  little  closet  at  the  back  of  the  palace, 
as  it  was  called,  unfurnished  and  out  of  use,  with  no  other 
prospect  from  my  single  windov/  but  that  of  a  turi-stacii. 
with  which  it  was  almost  in  contact,  I  seated  myself  by  choice, 
and  began  to  plan  and  compose  The  West  Indicm. 

As  the  writer  for  the  stage  is  a  writer  to  the  passions,  I 
hold  it  matter  of  conscience  and  duty  in  the  dramatic  poet  to 
reserve  his  brightest  colouring  for  the  best  characters,  to 
give  no  false  attractions  to  vice  and  immor]|b.lity,  but  to  en- 
deavour, as  far  as  is  consistent  with  that  contrast,  v/hich  is 
the  very  essence  of  his  art,  to  turn  the  fairer  side  of  human 
nature  to  the  public,  and,  as  much  as  in  him  lies,  to  contrive 
so  as  to  put  men  in  good  humour  vvith  one  another.  Let  him 
therefore  in  the  first  place  strive  to  make  worthy  characterr-; 
amiable,  but  take  great  care  not  to  make  them  insipid  ;  if 
he  does  not  put  life  and  spirit  into  his  man  or  v/oman  of  vir- 
tue, render  them  entertaining  as  well  as  good,  their  morality 
is  not  a  whit  more  attractive  than  the  morality  of  a  Greek 
chorus.     He  had  better  have  let  them  alone  altogether. 

Congreve,  Farquhar,  and  some  others  have  made  vice  and 
villany  so  playful  and  amusing,  that  either  they  could  not 
find  in  their  hearts  to  punish  them,  or  not  caring  how  wick- 
ed they  were,  so  long  as  they  were  witty,  paid  no  attention 
to  what  became  of  them  :  Shadwell's  comedy  is  little  bet- 
ter than  a  brothel.  Poetical  justice  which  has  armed  the 
tragic  poet  with  the  weapons  of  death,  and  commissioned 
him  to  wash  out  the  offence  in  the  blood  of  the  offender,  ha-s 
not  left  the  comic  writer  without  his  instruments  of  venge- 
ance ;  for  surely,  if  he  knows  how  to  employ  the  authority 
that  is  in  him,  the  scourge  of  ridicule  alone  is  sharp  enough 
for  the  chastisement  of  any  crimes,  which  can  fall  within  his 
province  to  exhibit.  A  true  poet  knows  that  unless  he  can 
produce  w^orks,  whose  fame  will  outlive  him,  he  will  outlive 
both  his  works  and  his  fame  :  therefore  every  comic  author 
who  takes  the  mere  clack  of  the  day  for  his  subject,  and  aban- 
dons all  his  claim  upon  posterity,  is  no  true  poet ;  if  he  dab- 
bles in  personalities,  he  does  considerably  worse.  When  I 
began  therefore,  as  at  this  time,  to  write  for  the  stage,  my 


136  MEMOIRS  OF 

ambition  was  to  aim  at  writing  something  that  might  be  last- 
ing and  outlive  me  ;  when  temporary  subjects  were  sug- 
gested to  me,  I  declined  them  :  I  formed  to  myself  in  idea 
what  I  conceived  to  be  the  character  of  a  legitimate  come- 
dy, and  that  alone  was  my  object,  and  though  I  did  not  quite 
aspire  to  attain,  I  was  not  altogether  in  despair  of  approach- 
ing it.  I  perceived  that  I  had  fallen  upon  a  time,  when  great 
eccentricity  of  character  was  pretty  nearly  gone  by,  but  still 
I  fancied  there  was  an  opening  for  some  originality,  and  an 
opportunity  for  shewing  at  least  my  good  will  to  mankind, 
if  I  introduced  the  characters  of  persons,  who  had  been  usu- 
ally exhibited  on  the  stage,  as  the  butts  for  ridicule  and  abuse, 
:md  endeavoured  to  present  them  in  such  lights,  as  might 
lend  to  reconcile  the  world  to  them,  and  them  to  the  world. 
I  thereupon  looked  into  society  for  the  purpose  of  discover- 
hig  such  as  wxre  the  victims  of  its  national,  professional  or 
religious  prejudices  ;  in  short  for  those  suffering  characters, 
uhich  stood  in  need  of  an  advocate,  and  out  of  these  I  medi- 
tated to  select  and  form  heroes  for  my  future  dramas,  of 
which  I  would  study  to  make  such  favourable  and  reconci- 
liatory  delineations,  as  might  incline  the  spectators  to  look 
upon  them  v.ith  pity,  and  receive  them  into  their  good  opi- 
nion and  esteem. 

With  this  project  in  my  mind,  and  nothing  but  the  turf- 
stack  to  call  off  my  attention,  I  took  the  characters  of  an 
Irishman  and  a  West  Indian  for  the  heroes  of  my  plot,  and 
began  to  work  it  out  into  the  shape  of  a  comedy.  To  the 
West  Indian  I  devoted  a  generous  spirit,  and  a  vivacious 
giddy  dissipation ;  I  resolved  he  should  love  pleasure  much, 
but  honour  more  ;  but  as  I  could  not  keep  consistency  of  cha- 
racter without  a  mixture  of  failings,  when  I  gave  him  charity, 
I  gave  him  that  which  can  cover  a  multitude,  and  thus  pro- 
tected, thus  recommended,  I  thought  I  might  send  him  out 
iiito  the  vv^orld  to  shift  for  himself. 

For  my  Irishman  I  had  a  scheme  rather  more  complicat- 
ed ;  I  put  him  into  the  Austrian  service,  and  exhibited  him 
in  the  livery  of  a  foreign  master,  to  impress  upon  the  audi- 
ence the  melancholy  and  impolitic  alternative,  to  v/hich  his 
religious  disqualification  had  reduced  a  gallant  and  a  loyal 
subject  of  his  natural  king :  I  gave  him  courage,  for  it  be- 
longs to  his  nation ;  I  endowed  him  with  honour,  for  it  belongs 
to  his  profession,  and  I  made  him  proud,  jealous,  suscepti- 
ble, for  Huch  the  exiled  veteran  will  be,  who   lives  by  t^e 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  137 

earnings  of  his  sword,  and  is  not  allowed  to  draw  it  in  the 
service  of  that  country,  which  gave  him  birth,  and  which  of 
course  he  was  born  to  defend  :  for  his  phraseology  I  had  the 
glossary  ready  at  my  hand  ;  for  his  mistakes  and  trips,  vul- 
garly called  bulls,  I  did  not  know  the  Irishman  of  the  stage 
then  existing,  v/nom  I  would  wish  to  make  my  model :  their 
gross  absurdities,  and  unnatural  contrarieties  have  not  a  shade 
of  character  in  them.  When  his  imagination  is  warmed,  and 
his  ideas  rush  upon  him  in  a  cluster,  'tis  then  the  Irishman 
will  sometimes  blunder  ;  his  fancy  having  supplied  more 
words  than  his  tongue  can  well  dispose  of,  it  will  occasion- 
ally trip.  But  the  imitation  mvist  be  delicately  conducted  ; 
his  meaning  is  clear,  he  conceives  rightly,  though  in  delivery 
he  is  confused  ;  and  the  art,  as  I  conceive  it,  of  finding  lan- 
guage, for  the  Irish  character  on  the  stage  consists,  not  in 
making  him  foolish,  vulgar,  or  absurd,  but  on  the  contrary, 
whilst  you  furnish  him  with  expressions,  that  excite  laugh- 
ter, you  must  graft  them  upon  sentiments,  that  deserve  ap- 
plause. 

In  all  my  hours  of  study  it  has  been  through  life  my  object 
so  to  locate  myself  as  to  have  little  or  nothing  to  distract  my 
attention,  and  therefore  brilliant  rooms  or  pleasant  prospects 
I  have  ever  avoided.  A  dead  wall,  or,  as  is  the  pixsent 
case,  an  Irish  turf-stack,  are  not  attractions,  that  can  call 
off  the  fancy  from  its  pursuits  ;  and  whilst  in  those  pursuits 
it  can  find  interest  and  occupation,  it  wants  no  outward  aids 
to  cheer  it.  My  mother,  who  had  a  fellow-feeling  with  me 
in  these  sensations,  used  occasionally  to  visit  me  in  this 
hiding  hole,  and  animated  me  with  her  remarks  upon  the 
progress  of  my  work :  my  fatlier  was  rather  inclined  to 
apologize  for  the  meanness  of  my  accommodation,  and  I 
believe  rather  wondered  at  my  choice  :  in  the  mean  time 
I  had  none  of  those  incessant  avocations,  which  forever 
crossed  me  in  the  writing  of  The  Brothers.  I  was  master 
of  my  time,  my  mind  was  free,  and  I  was  happy  in  the  so- 
ciety of  the  dearest  friends  I  had  on  earth.  In  parents,  sis- 
ter, wife  and  children,  greater  blessings  no  man  could  en- 
joy-^^  The  calls  of  office,  the  cavillings  of  angry  rivals,  and 
the  jibings  of  newspaper  critics  could  not  reach  me  on  the 
banks  of  the  Shannon,  where  all  within  doors  Avas  love  and 
affection,  all  without  was  gratitude  and  kindness  devolved 
ou  me  through  the  merits  of  my  father.     In  no  other  period 

M  2 


138  MEMOIRS  OF 

of  my  life  have  the  same  happy  circumstances  combined  to 
cheer  me  in  any  of  my  literary  labours. 

During  an  excursion  of  a  few  days  upon  a  visit  to  Mr. 
Talbot  of  Mount  Talbot,  a  very  respectable  and  worthy  gen- 
tleman in  these  parts,  I  found  a  kind  of  hermitage  in  his 
pleasure  grounds,  where  I  wrote  some  few  scenes,  and  my 
amiable  host  was  afterwards  pleased  to  honour  the  author  of 
the  West  Indian,  v/ith  an  inscription,  affixed  to  that  build- 
ing, commemorating  the  use,  that  had  been  made  of  it  ; 
a  piece  of  elegant  flattery  very  elegantly  expressed. 

On  this  Adsit  to  Mr.  Talbot  I  was  accompanied  by  Lord 
Eyre  of  Eyre  Couii:,  a  near  neighbour  and  friend  of  my 
father.  This  noble  Lord,  though  pretty  far  advanced  in 
years,  was  so  correctly  indigenous,  as  never  to  have  been 
out  of  Ireland  in  his  life,  and  not  often  so  far  from  Eyre 
Court  as  in  this  tower  to  Mr.  Talbot's.  Proprietor  of  a  vast 
extent  of  soil,  not  very  productive,  and  inhabiting  a  spa- 
cious mansion,  not  in  the  best  repair,  he  lived  according  to 
the  style  of  the  country  with  more  hospitality  than  elegance  : 
whilst  his  table  groaned  with  abundance,  the  order  and  good 
taste  of  its  arrangement  were  little  thought  of:  the  slaugh- 
tered ox  was  himg  up  whole,  and  the  hungry  servitor  sup- 
plied himself  vvith  his  dole  of  flesh,  sliced  from  off  the  car- 
case. His  lordship's  day  was  so  apportioned  as  to  give  the 
afternoon  by  much  the  largest  share  of  it,  during  which, 
from  an  early  dinner  to  the  hour  of  rest,  he  never  left  his 
chair,  nor  did  the  claret  ever  quit  the  table.  This  did  not 
produce  inebriety,  for  it  was  sipping  rather  than  drinking, 
that  filled  up  the  time,  and  this  mechanical  process  of  grad- 
ually moistening  the  human  clay  was  carried  on  with  very 
little  aid  from  conversation,  for  his  lordsliip's  companions 
•were  not  very  communicative,  and  fortunately  he  was  not 
very  cuiious.  He  lived  in  an  enviable  independence  as  to 
reading,  and  of  course  he  had  no  books.  Not  one  of  the 
•windows  of  his  castle  was  made  to  open,  but  luckily  he  had  no 
liking  to  fresh  air,  and  the  consequence  may  be  better  con- 
ceived than  described- 

He  had  a  large  and  handsome  pleasure  boat  on  the  Shan- 
Tion,  and  men  to  row  it  ;  I  was  of  two  or  three  parties  with 
him  on  that  noble  water  as  far  as  to  Pertumna,  the  then  de- 
serted castle  of  the  Lord  Clanrickarde.  Upon  one  of  these 
excursions  we  were  hailed  by  a  person  from  the  bank,  who 
somewhat  rudely  called  us  to  take  liim  over  to  the  other  side. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  139 

The  company  in  the  boat  making;  no  reply,  I  inadvenently 
called  out — ^"  Aye,  aye,  Sir !  stay  there  till  we  come."— ^Im- 
mediately I  heard  a  murmur  in  the  company,  and  Lord  Eyre 
said  to  me — "  You'll  hear  from  that  gentleman  again,  or  I 
"  am  mistaken.  You  don't  know  perhaps  that  you  have 
"  been  answering  one  of  the  most  irritable  men  alive,  and 
"  the  likeliest  to  interpret  what  you  have  sidd  as  an  affront," 
He  predicted  truly,  for  the  very  next  morninj^  tb'e  gentle- 
man rode  over  to  Lord  Eyre,  and  demanded  of  him  to  give 
up  my  name.  This  his  lordship  did,  but  informed  him 
withal  that  I  was  a  stranger  in  the  country,  the  son  of  Bishop 
Cumberland  at  Clonfert,  where  I  might  be  found,  if  he  had 
any  commands  forme.  He  instantly  replied,  that  he  should 
have  received  it  as  an  affront  from  any  other  man,  but  Bishop 
Cumberland's  was  a  character  he  respected,  and  no  son  of 
his  could  be  guilty  of  an  intention  to  insult  him.  Thus  this 
valliant  gentleman  permitted  me  to  live,  and  only  helped  me 
to  another  feature  in  my  sketch  of  Major  O 'Flaherty. 

A  short  time  after  this,  Lord  Eyre,  who  had  a  great  pas- 
sion for  cock-fighting,  and  whose  cocks  were  the  crack  of  all 
Ireland,  engaged  me  in  a  main  at  Eyre  Court.  I  was  a 
perfect  novice  in  that  elegant  sport,  but  the  gentlemen  from 
all  parts  sent  me  in  their  contributions,  and  having  a  good 
feeder  I  won  every  battle  in  the  main  but  one.  At  this 
meeting  I  fell  in  wdth  my  hero  from  the  Shannon  bank. 
Both  parties  dined  together,  but  when  I  found  that  mine, 
which  w'as  the  more  numerous  and  infinitely  the  most  ob- 
streperous and  disposed  to  quarrel,  could  no  longer  be  left 
in  peace  with  our  antagonists,  I  quitted  my  seat  by  Lord  Eyre 
and  went  to  the  gentleman  above  alluded  to,  who  was  pre- 
siding  at  the  second  table,  and  seating  myself  familiarly  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair,  proposed  to  him  to  adjourn  our  party, 
and  assemble  them  in  another  house,  for  the  sake  of  harmony 
and  good  fellov\-ship.  With  the  best  grace  in  life  he  instant- 
ly assented,  and  when  I  added  that  I  should  put  them  under 
his  care,  and  expect  from  him  as  a  man  of  honour  and  my 
friend,  that  every  mother's  son  of  them  should  be  found  forth- 
coming and  alive  ti  e  next  morning — "  Tlien  by  the  soul  of 
"  me,  ne  replied,  and  they  shall ;  provided  only  that  no  man 
"  in  company  shall  dare  to  give  the  glorious  and  immortal  me- 
"  raorij  for  his  toast,  which  no  gentleman,  who  feels  as  I  do, 
"  will  put  up  with."  To  this  I  pledged  myself,  and  we  re- 
moved to  a  whiskey  house,  attended  by  half  a  score  pipers. 


HO  MEMOIRS  OF 

playing  different  tunes.  Here  we  went  on  very  joyously 
and  lovingly  for  a  time,  till  a  well-dressed  gentleman  enter- 
ed the  room,  and  civilly  accosting  me,  requested  to  partake 
of  our  festi\dty,  and  join  the  company,  if  nobody  had  an 
objection — "  Ah  now,  don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  a  voice  was 
instantly  heard  to  reply,  "  I  believe  you  will  find  plenty  of 
"  objection  in  this  company  to  your  being  one  amongst  us." 
What  had  he  done  the  gentleman  demanded — "  What  have 
<*  you  done,"  rejoined  the  first  speaker,  "  Don't  I  know  you 
**  for  the  miscreant,  that  ravished  the  poor  wench  against 
"  her  will,  in  presence  of  her  mother  ?  And  did'nt  your  Pa- 
•^  gans,  that  held  her  down,  ravish  the  mother  afterwards,  in 
"  presence  of  her  daughter  ?  And  do  you  think  we  will  ad- 
"  mit  you  into  our  company  ?  Make  yourself  sure  that  we 
"  shall  not ;  therefore  get  out  of  this  as  speedily  as  you  can, 
"  and  away  wid  you  !"  Upon  this  the  whole  company  rose, 
and  in  their  rising  the  civil  gentleman  made  his  exit  and  was 
off.  I  relate  this  incident  exactly  as  it  happened,  suppress*- 
ing  the  name  of  the  gentleman,  who  w^as  a  man  of  property 
and  some  consequence.  When  my  surprise  had  subsided, 
and  the  punch  began  to  circulate  with  a  rapidity  the  greater 
for  this  gentleman's  having  troubled  the  waters,  I  took  my 
departure,  having  first  cautioned  a  friend,  who  sate  by  m§, 
(and  the  only  protestant  in  the  company,)  to  keep  his  head 
cool,  and  beware  of  the  glorious  memory  ;  this  gallant  young 
officer,  son  to  a  man,  who  held  lands  of  my  father,  promised 
faithfully  to  be  sober  and  discreet,  as  well  knowing  the  com- 
pany he  was  in  ;  but  my  friend  having  forgot  the  first  part 
of  his  promise,  and  getting  very  tipsy,  let  the  second  part 
slip  out  of  his  memory,  and  became  very  mad  ;  for  stepping 
aside  for  his  pistols,  he  re-entered  the  room,  and  laying 
them  on  the  table,  took  the  cockade  from  his  hat,  and  dash- 
ed it  into  the  punch -bowl,  demanding  of  the  company  to 
drink  the  glorious  and  immortal  w.emory  of  King  William  in  a 
bumper,  or  abide  the  consequences.  I  was  not  there,  and  if 
I  had  been  present  I  could  neither  have  stayed  the  tumult 
nor  described  it.  I  only  know  he  turned  out  the  next  morn- 
ing merely  for  honour's  sake,  but  as  it  was  one  against  a 
host,  the  magnanimity  of  his  opponents  let  him  off  with  a 
shot  or  two,  that  did  no  execution.  I  returned  to  the  peace- 
ful family  2X  Clonfert,  and  fought  no  more  cocks. 

The  fairies  were  extremely  prevalent    at  Clonfert :  vi- 
sions of  burials  attended  by  long  processions  of  mourners 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  141 

were  seen  to  circle  the  church -yard  by  night,  and  there 
was  no  lack  of  oaths  and  attestations  to  enforce  the  truth  of 
it.  My  mother  sufTered  a  loss  by  them  of  a  large  brood  of 
fine  turkies  who  were  every  one  burnt  to  ashes,  bones  and 
feathers,  and  their  dust  scattered  in  the  air  by  their  provi- 
dent nurse  and  feeder  to  appease  those  mischievous  little 
beings,  and  prevent  worse  consequences  ;  the  good  dame 
credited  herself  very  highly  for  this  act  of  atonement,  but 
my  mother  did  not  see  it  quite  in  so  meritorious  a  light. 

A  few  days  after  as  my  father  and  I  were  riding  in  the 
grounds  v/e  crossed  upon  the  Catholic  priest  of  the  parish. 
iVIy  father  began  a  conversation  with  him,  and  expressed  a 
wish  that  he  would  caution  his  flock  against  this  idle  super- 
stition of  the  faries  :  the  good  man  assured  the  bishop  that 
in  the  first  place  he  could  not  do  it  if  he  would  ;  and  in  the 
next  place  confessed  that  he  was  himself  far  from  being  an 
unbeliever  in  their  existence.  My  father  thereupon  turned 
the  subject,  and  observed  to  him  with  concern,  that  his  steed 
was  a  very  sorry  one,  and  in  very  wretched  condition.— 
"  Truly,  my  good  lord,"  he  replied,  "the  beast  himself  is 
''  but  an  ugly  garron,  and  whereby  I  have  no  provender  to 
"  spare  him,  mightily  out  of  heart,  as  I  may  tiTily  say  :  but 
"  your  lordship  must  think  a  poor  priest  like  me  has  a 
"  mighty  deal  of  work  and  very  little  pay — "  "  Why 
"  then,  brother,"  said  my  good  father,  whilst  benevolence 
beamed  in  his  countenance,  "  'tis  fit  that  I  who  have  the  ad- 
"  vantage  of  you  in  both  respects,  should  mount  you  on  a 
"  better  horse,  and  furnish  you  with  provender  to  maintain 
"  him-—."  This  parley  with  the  priest  passed  in  the  very^ 
hay -field,  where  the  bishop's  people  were  at  work  ;  orders 
were  instantly  given  for  a  stack  of  hay  to  be  made  at  the 
priest's  cabin,  and  in  a  few  days  after  a  steady  horse  was 
purchased  and  presented  to  him.  Surely  they  could  not  be 
true  born  Irish  faries,  that  would  spite  my  father,  or  event 
his  turkies,  after  this. 

Amongst  the  labourers  in  my  father's  garden  there  wei*e' 
three  brothers  of  the  name  of  O'Rourke,  regularly  descend- 
ed from  the  kings  of  Connaught,  if  they  were  exactly  to  be 
credited  for  the  correctness  of  their  genealogy.  There  was 
also  an  elderbrother  of  these,  Thomas  O'Rourke,  who  filled 
the  superior  station  of  hind,  or  headman  ;  it  was  his  wife 
that  burnt  the  bewitched  turkies,  whilst  Tom  burnt  his  wig 
fcr  joy  of  my  victory  at  the  coGk-inatcii,  and  threw  a  proper 


142  MEMOIRS  OF 

parcel  of  oatmeal  into  the  air  as  a  votive  offering  for  my  glo- 
rious success.  One  of  the  younger  brothers  was  upon  crut- 
ches in  consequence  of  a  contusion  on  his  hip,  which  he  lite- 
rally acquired  as  follows : — When  my  father  came  down  to 
Clonfeit  from  Dublin,  it  was  announced  to  him  that  the 
bishop  was  arrived :  the  poor  tellow  was  then  in  the  act  of 
lopping  a  tree  in  the  garden  ;  transported  at  the  tidings,  he 
exclaimed — "  Is  my  lord  come  ?  Then  I'll  throw  myself  out 
"  of  this  same  tree  for  joy — ."  He  exactly  fulfilled  his 
word,  and  laid  himself  up  for  some  months. 

¥/hen  I  accompanied  my  mother  from  Clonfert  to  Dub- 
lin, my  father  having  gone  before,  we  passed  the  night  at 
Killbeggan,  where  Sir  Thomas  Cuffe,  (knighted  in  a  frolic 
by  Lord  Townshend)  kept  the  inn.  A  certain  Mr.  Geoghe- 
gan  was  extremely  drunk,  noisy,  and  brutally  troublesome 
to  lady  Cuffe  the  hostess  :  Thomas  O'Rourke  was  with  us, 
and  being  much  scandalized  with  the  behaviour  of  Geoghe- 
gan,  took  me  aside,  and  in  a  whisper  said — "  Squire,  will  I 
"  quiet  this  same  Mr.  Geoghegan?"  When  I  replied  by 
all.  means,  but  hov/  was  it  to  be  done  ? — .Tom  produced  a 
knife  of  formidable  length  and  demanded — "  Haven't  I  got 
"  this  ?  And  won't  this  do  the  job,  and  hasn't  he  wounded 
"  the  woman  of  the  inn  with  a  chopping-knife,  and  what  is 
"  this  but  knife,  and  wou'dn't  it  be  a  good  deed  to  put  him 
"  to  death  like  a  mad  dog  ?  Therefore,  Squire,  do  you  see, 
^'  if  it  will  pleasure  you  and  my  lady  there  above  stairs,  who 
"  is  ill  enough,  God  he  knows,  I'll  put  this  knife  into  that 
"  same  Mr.  Geoghegan's  ribs,  and  be  off  the  next  moment 
"  on  the  grey  mare  ;  and  is'nt  she  in  the  stable  ?  Therefore 
^*  only  say  the  word,  and  I'll  doit."  This  was  the  true  and 
exact  proposal  of  Thomas  O'Rourke,  and  as  nearly  as  I  can 
remember,  I  have  stated  in  his  very  words. 

We  arrived  safe  in  Dublin,  leaving  Mr.  Geoghegan  to  get 
sober  at  his  leisure,  and  dismissing  O'Rourke  to  his  quarters 
at  Clonfert.  When  we  had  passed  a  few  days  in  Kildare- 
Street,  I  well  remember  the  surprise  it  occasioned  us  one 
afternoon,  when  without  any  notice  we  saw  a  great  gigantic 
dirty  fellow  walk  into  the  room  and  march  straight  up  to  my 
father,  for  what  purpose  we  could  not  devise.  My  mother 
uttered  a  scream,  whilst  my  father  with  perfect  composure  - 
addressed  him  by  the  nam©  of  Stephen,  demanding  what  he 
wanted  with  him,  and  what  brouglit  him  to  Dublin — "  Nay, 
"  my  good  lord,"  replied  the  man,  "  I  have  no  other  businesa 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  143 

"  in  Dublin  itself  but  to  take  a  bit  of  a  walk  up  from  Clonfcrt 
"  to  see  your  sweet  face,  long  life  to  it,  and  to  beg  a  blessing 
"  upon  me  from  your  lordship  ;  that  is  all."  So  saying  he 
flounced  down  on  his  knees,  Sc  in  a  most  piteous  kind  of  howl, 
closing  his  hands  at  the  same  time,  cried  out,  "  Pray,  my  lord, 
pray  to  God  to  bless  Stephen  Costello— ."  The  scene  was 
sufficiently  ludicrous  to  have  spoiled  the  solemnity,  yet  my 
father  kept  his  countenance,  and  gravely  gave  his  blessing, 
saying  as  he  laid  his  hands  on  his  head—"  God  bless  you, 
"  Stephen  Costello,  and  make  you  a  good  boy  1"  The  giant 
sung  out  a  loud  amen,  and  arose,  declaring  he  should  imme- 
diately set  out  and  return  to  his  home.  He  would  accept  no 
refreshment,  but  with  many  thanks  and  a  thousand  blessings 
in  recompense  for  the  one  he  had  received  walked  out  of 
the  house,  and  I  can  well  believe  resumed  his  pilgrimage  to 
the  westward,  without  stop  or  stay.  I  should  not  have  con- 
sidered this  and  the  preceding  anecdotes  as  worth  recording, 
but  that  they  are  in  some  degree  characteristic  of  a  very 
curious  and  peculiar  people,  who  are  not  often  understood 
by  those  who  profess  to  mimic  them,  and  who  are  too  apt  to 
set  them  forth  as  objects  for  ridicule  only,  when  oftentimes 
even  their  oddities,  if  candidly  examined,  would  entitle  them 
to  our  respect. 

I  will  here  mention  a  very  extraordinary  honour,  which 
the  city  of  Dublin  was  pleased  to  confer  upon  my  father  in 
presenting  him  with  his  freedom  in  a  gold  box  ;  a  form  of 
such  high  respect  as  they  had  never  before  observed  towards 
any  person  below  the  rank  of  their  chief  governor :  I  state 
this  last-mentioned  circumstanoe  from  authorities  that  ought 
not  to  be  mistaken ;  if  the  fact  is  otherwise,  I  have  been 
misinformed,  and  the  honour  conferred  upon  tlie  Bishop  of 
Clonfert  was  not  without  a  precedent.  The  motives  assign- 
ed in  the  deed,  which  accompanied  the  box,  are  in  general 
for  the  great  respectability  of  his  character,  and  in  particu- 
lar for  his  disinterested  protection  of  the  Irish  clergy.  Un- 
der this  head  it  was  supposed  they  alluded  to  the  benefice, 
which  he  had  bestowxd  upon  a  most  deserving  clergyman, 
his  own  particular  friend  and  chaplain,  the  Reverend  Dixie 
Blondel5  who  happened  also  to  be  at  that  time  chapkun  to 
the  Lord  Mayor  of  Dublin.  I  have  the  box  at  this  time  in 
my  possession. 

To  the  same  merits,  which  influenced  the  city  to  bestow 
this  distinguished  honour  on  my  father,  I  must  ascribe  that 


144  MEMOIRS  OF 

which  I  received  from  the  University  of  Dublin,  by  the  ho- 
norary grant  of  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws.  Upon  this  I 
have  only  to  observe  that  to  be  within  the  sphere  of  my 
father's  good  name,  v/as  to  me  at  once  a  security  against  dan- 
ger and  a  recommendation  to  favom'  and  reward. 

When  I  returned  to  England  I  entered  into  an  engage- 
ment with  Mr.  Garrick  to  bring  out  The  West-Indian  at  his 
theatre.  I  had  received  fair  and  honorable  treatment  from 
Mr.  Harris,  and  had  not  the  slightest  cause  of  complaint 
against  him,  his  brother  patentees  or  his  actoro.  I  had  how- 
ever no  engagement  with  him,  nor  had  he  signified  to  me 
his  wish  or  expectation  of  any  such  in  future.  If  notwith- 
standing, the  obligation  was  honourably  such,  as  I  was  not 
free  to  depart  from,  in  which  light  I  am  pretty  sure  he  re- 
garded it,  my  conduct  was  no  otherwise  defensible  than  as  it 
was  not  intentionally  unfair.  My  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Garrick  had  become  intimacy  between  the  acting  of  The 
Brothers  and  the  acceptance  of  the  West  Indian.  I  resort- 
ed to  him  again  and  again  with  the  manuscript  of  my  com^e- 
dy  ;  I  availed  myself  of  his  advice,  of  his  remarks,  and  I  was 
neither  conscious  of  doing  what  was  wrong  in  me  to  do,  nor 
did  any  remonstrance  ever  reach  me  to  apprise  me  of  my 
error. 

I  was  not  indeed  quite  a  novice  to  the  theatre,  but  I  was 
clearly  mnocent  of  knowing  or  believing  myself  bound  by 
any  rules  or  usage,  that  prevented  me  from  offering  my 
production  to  the  one  or  the  other  at  my  ovra  free  option. 
I  went  to  Mr.  Garrick  ;  I  found  in  him  what  my  inexperi- 
ence stood  in  need  of,  an  admirable  judge  of  stage-effect ; 
at  his  suggestion  I  added  the  preparatory  scene  in  the  house 
of  Stockwell,  before  the  arrival  of  Belcour,  where  his  bag- 
gage is  brought  in,  and  the  domestics  of  the  merchant  are 
setting  tilings  in  readiness  for  his  coming.  This  insertion 
I  made  by  his  advice,  and  I  punctually  remember  the  very 
instant  when  he  said  to  me  in  his  chariot  en  our  way  to 
Hampton — "  I  want  sonmething  more  to  be  announced  of 
'•  your  West-Indian  before  you  bring  him  on  the  stage  to 
''  give  eclat  to  his  entrance,  and  rouse  the  curiosity  of  the' 
"  audience  ;  that  they  may  say — Aye,  here  he  comes  wit^ 
"  all  his  colours  flying." —  When  I  asked  how  this  was  1 
be  done,  and  who  was  to  do  it,  he  considered  awhile  an| 
then'  replied — "  Why  that  is  your  look  out,  my  friend,  na 
"  mine  ;  but  if  neither  your  merchasit  nor  his  clerk  can 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  Uo 

^^  it,  why,  why  send  in  the  servants,  and  let  them  talk  a- 
"  bout  him.  Never  let  me  see  a  hero  step  iii^on  the  stage 
"  without  his  trumpeters  of  some  sort  or  other."  Upon 
this  conversation  it  was  that  I  engrafted  the  scene  above  men- 
tioned, and  this  was  in  truth  the  only  alteration  of  any  con- 
sequence that  the  manuscript  underwent  in  its  passage  lO 
the  stage. 

After  we  came  to  Hampton,  where  that  inimitable  man 
■was  to  be  seen  in  his  highest  state  of  animation,  we  began 
to  debate  upon  the  cast  of  the  play.  Barry  was  extremely 
desirous  to  play  the  part  of  the  Irish  Major,  and  Garrick 
was  very  doubtful  how  to  decide,  for  Moody  was  then  an 
actor  little  known  and  at  alow  salary.  I  took  no  part  in  the 
question,  for  I  was  entitled  to  no  opinion,  but  I  remember 
Garrick  after  long  deliberation  gave  his  decree  for  Moody 
with  considerable  repugnance,  qualifying  his  preference  to 
the  latter  with  reasons,  that  in  no  respect  reflected  on  the 
merits  of  Mr.  Barry— «but  he  did  not  quite  sec  him  in  the 
whole  part  of  OTlaherty  ;  there  v/ere  certain  points  of  hu- 
mour, where  he  thought  it  likely  he  might  fail,  and  in  that 
case  his  failure,  like  his  name,  would  be  more  conspicuous 
than  Moody's.  In  short  Moody  v/ould  take  pains  ;  it  might 
make  him,  it  might  mar  the  other  ;  so  Moody  had  it,  and 
succeeded  to  our  utmost  wishes.  Mr.  King,  ever  justly  a 
favourite  of  the  public,  took  the  part  of  Belcour,  and  Mrs. 
Abingdon,  with  some  few  salvos  on  the  score  of  condescen- 
tion,  played  Charlotte  Rusport,  and  though  she  would  not 
allow  it  to  be  any  thing  but  a  sketch,  yet  she  made  a  charac- 
ter of  it  by  her  inimitable  acting. 

The  production  of  a  new  play  was  in  those  days  an  event 
of  much  greater  attraction  than  from  its  frequency  it  is  now 
become,  so  that  the  house  Vv^as  taken  to  the  back  rows  of  the 
front  boxes  for  several  nights  in  succession  before  that  of 
its  representation  ;  yet  in  this  interval  I  offered  to  give  its 
produce  to  Garrick  for  a  picture,  that  hung  over  his  chim- 
ney piece  in  Southampton-Street,  and  was  only  a  copy  from 
a  Holy  Family  of  Andrea  del  Sarto :  he  would  have  closed 
with  me  upon  the  bargain,  but  that  the  picture  had  been  a 
present  to  him  from  Lord  Baltimore.  My  expectations  did 
not  run  very  high  vv^hen  I  made  this  ofier. 

A  rumour  had  gone  about,  that  the  character,  which  gave 
its  title  to  the  comedy,  was  satirical ;  of  course  the  gentle- 
man who  came  under  that  description,  went  dov/n  to  th-e 


146  MEMOIRS  OF 

theatre  in  great  strength,  very  naturally  disposed  to  chas- 
tise the  author  for  his  malignity,  and  their  phalanx  was  not 
a  little  formidable.  Mrs.  Cumberland  and  I  sate  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs,  Garrick  in  their  private  box.  When  the  pro- 
logue-speaker had  gone  the  length  of  the  four  first  lines  the 
tumult  v/as  excessive,  and  the  interruption  held  so  long, 
that  it  seerned  doubtful,  if  the  prologue  would  be  suffered 
to  proceed.  Garrick  was  much  agitated  ;  he  observed  to 
nie  that  the  appearance  of  the  house,  particularly  in  the  pit, 
was  more  hostile  than  he  had  ever  seen  it.  It  so  happened 
that  I  did  not  at  that  moment  feel  the  danger  which  he  seemed 
to  apprehend,  and  remarked  to  him  that  the  very  first  w^ord, 
wiiich  discovered  Belcour's  character  to  be  friendly,  would 
turn  the  clamour  for  us,  and  so  far  I  regarded  the  impetu- 
osity of  the  audience  as  a  symtom  in  our  favour.  Whilst 
this  was  passing  between  us,  order  was  loudly  issued  for  the 
prologue  to  begin  again,  and  in  the  delivery  of  a  few  lines 
more  than  they  had  already  heard,  they  seemed  reconciled 
to  wait  the  developement  of  a  chai^acter,  from  which  they 
were  told  to  expect—- 

"  Some  emanations  of  a  noble  mind." 

Their  acquiescence  however  was  not  set  off  with  much 
applause  ;  it  was  a  suspicious  truce,  a  sullen  kind  of  civility, 
that  did  not  promise  more  favour  than  we  could  earn  ;  but 
when  the  prologue  came  to  touch  upon  the  Major,  and  told 
his  countrymen  in  the  galleries,  that 

"  His  heart  can  never  trip-—" 

they,  honest  souls,  wiio  had  hitherto  been  treated  with  little 
else  but  stage  kicks  and  cuffs  for  their  entertainment,  sent  up 
such  a  hearty  crack,  as  plainly  told  us  we  had  not  indeed 
little  cherubs^  but  lusty  champions,  ivho  sate  up  aloft. 

Of  the  subsequent  success  of  this  lucky  comedy  there  is 
no  occasion  for  me  to  speak  ;  eight  and  twenty  successive 
nights  it  went  without  the  buttress  of  an  afterpiece,  which 
w^as  not  then  the  practice  of  attaching'  to  a  new  play.  Such 
was  the  good  fortune  of  an  author,  who  happened  to  strike 
upon  a  popular  and  taking  plan,  for  certainly  the  moral  of 
the  West-Indian  is  not  quite  unexceptionable,  neither  is  the 
dialogue  above  the  level  of  others  of  the  same  author,  which 
have  been  much  less  favoured.  The  snarlers  snapped  at 
it,  but  they  never  set  their  teeth  into  the  right  place  ;  I 
don't  think  I  am  very  vain  when  I  say  that  I  could  have 
taught  them  better.    Garrick  v/as  extremely  kiiid;  and  threw 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  147 

his  shiekl  before  me  more  than  once,  as  the  St.  James'  evc- 
nnig  paper  could  have  witnessed.  My  property  in  the  piece 
was  reserved  for  me  with  the  greatest  exactness  ;  the  charge 
of  the  house  upon  the  author's  nights  was  then  only  sixty 
pounds,  and  when  Mr.  Evans  the  Treasurer  came  to  my 
house  in  Queen-Ann-Strcet  in  a  hackney  coach  with  a  huge 
bag  of  money,  he  spread  it  all  in  gold  upon  my  table,  and 
seemed  to  contemplate  it  with  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  that  was 
extremely  droll  ;  and  when  I  tendered  him  his  customary 
fee,  he  peremptorily  refused  it,  saying  he  had  never  paid  an 
author  so  much  before,  I  had  f^iirly  earnt  it,  and  he  would 
not  lessen  it  a  single  shilling,  not  eve-,  his  coach-hire,"  and 
in  that  humour  he  departed.  Pie  had  no  sooner  left  the 
room  than  one  entered  it,  who  was  not  quite  so  scrupulous, 
but  quite  as  welcome  ;  my  beloved  v/ifc  took  twenty  guin- 
eas from  the  heap,  and  instantly  bestovrcd  them  on  the 
faithful  servant,  who  had  attended  on  our  children  ;  a  tri- 
bute justly  due  her  unwearied  diligence  and  exemplary 
conduct. 

I  sold  the  copy-right  to  Griian  in  Catharine-Street  for 
150/.  and  if  he  told  the  truth  when  he  boasted  of  having 
vended  12,000  copies,  he  did  not  make  a  bad  bargain  ;  and 
if  he  made  a  goo<:l  one,  which  it  is  pretty  clear  he  did,  it  is 
not  quite  so  clear  he  deserved  it :  he  was  a  sorry  fellov,^. 

I  paid  respectful  attention  to  all  the  floating  criticisms, 
that  came  within  my  reach,  but  I  found  no  opportunities  of 
profiting  by  their  remarks,  and  very  little  cause  to  complain 
of  their  personalities  ;  in  short,  I  had  more  praise  tlian  I 
merited,  and  less  cavilling  than  I  expected*  One  morning 
when  I  called  upon  Mr.  Garrick  I  found  him  with  the  St. 
James's  evening  paper  in  his  hand,  which  he  began  to  read 
with  a  voice  and  action  of  surprise,  most  admirably  counter- 
feited, and  as  if  he  had  discovered  a  mine  under  my  feet, 
and  a  train  to  blow  me  up  to  destruction — ■■ — ^'  Here,  here," 
he  cried,  "  if  your  skin  is  less  thick  than  a  rhinoceros's  hide, 
"  egad,  here  is  that  will  cut  you  to  the  bone.  This  is  a  ter- 
"  rible  fellow  ;  I  wonder  who  it  can  be."— He  began  to  sing 
out  his  libel  in  a  high  declamatory  tone,  with  a  most  comic 
countenance,  and  pausing  at  the  end  of  the  first  sentence, 
which  seemed  to  favour  his  contrivance  for  a  little  ingenious 
tormenting,  when  he  found  he  had  hooked  me,  he  laid  down 
the  paper,  and  began  to  comment  upon  the  cruelty  of  news- 
papers,  &  moaii  over  me  with  a^great  deal  of  malicious  fun  and 


us  iMEMOIRS  OF 

good  humour—^*  Confound  these  fellows,  they  spare  nobody. 
^'  I  dare  say  this  is  Bickerstaff  again  ;  but  you  don't  mind 
'•  him  ;  no,  no,  I  see  you  don't  mind  hini ;  a  little  galled, 
^'  but  not  much  hurt :  you  may  stop  his  mouth  with  a  golden 
*'  gag^  but  we'll  see  how  lie  goes  on." — He  then  resumed 
his  reading,  cheering  me  all  the  w^ay  as  it  began  to  soften, 
till  winding  up  in  the  most  profest  panegyric,  of  which  he 
■was  himself  the  writer,  I  found  my  friend  had  had  his  joke, 
and  I  had  enjoyed  his  praise,  seasoned  and  setoff*,  in  his  in- 
imitable manner,  which  to  be  comprehended  must  have 
been  seen. 

It  yras  the  remark  of  Lord  Lyttleton  upon  tliis  comedy, 
"'Vhen  speaking  of  it  to  me  one  evening  at  Mrs.  Montagu's, 
that  had  it  not  been  for  the  incident  of  O'Flaherty's  hiding 
himself  behind  the  screen,  when  he  overhears  the  lawyer's 
soliloquy,  he  should  have  pronounced  it  a  faultless  composi- 
tion. This  flattery  his  lordship  surely  added  against  the 
conviction  of  his  better  judgment  merely  as  a  sweetener  to 
qualify  his  criticism,  and  by  so  doing  convinced  me  that  he 
suspected  me  of  being  less  amenable  to  fair  correction  than 
I  really  am  and  ever  have  been.  But  be  this  as  it  may,  a 
critibism  from  Lord  Lyttleton  must  always  be  worth  record- 
ing, and  this  especially,  as  it  not  only  applies  to  my  comedy 
in  particular,  but  is  general  to  all. 

'*  I  consider  listening^''  said  he,  "  as  a  resource  never  to 
•  be  allovv^ed  in  any  pure  drama,  nor  ought  e-.ny  good  author 

to  make  use  of  it."  This  position  being  laid  down  by  au- 
iiority  so  high,  and  audibly  delivered,  drew  the  attention  of 
the  com.pany  assembled  for  conversation,  and  all  vrere  silent. 
**  It  is  in  fact,"  he  added,  "  a  violation  of  those  rules,  which 
^^  original  authorities  have  established  for  the  constitution  of 
^'  the  comic  drama."  After  all  due  acknowledgments  for 
the  favour  of  his  remark,  I  replied  that  if  I  had  trespassed 
against  any  rule  laid  down  by  classical  authority  in  the  case 
alluded  to,  I  had  done  it  inadvertently,  for  I  really  did  not 
know  where  any  such  rule  was  to  be  found. 

"  What  did  Aristotle  say  ? — Were  there  no  rules  laid 
"  dov/n  by  liim  for  comedy  r"  None  that  I  knew  ;  Aristo- 
tle referred  to  the  Margites  and  Ilias  Minor  as  models,  but 
that  was  no  rule,  and  the  models  being  lost,  we  had  neither 
precept  nor  example  to  instruct  us.  "  Were  there  any  pre- 
'^  cedents  in  the  Greek  or  Roman  drama,  w  hich  could  jus- 
"  tify  the  measure."— To  this  I  replied  that  no  precedent 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  149 

eould  justify  the  measure  in  my  opinion,  which  his  lordship's 
better  judi^ment  had  condemned  ;  being  possessed  of  that  I 
should  offend  no  more,  but  as  my  error  was  committed  when 
I  had  no  such  advice  to  guide  me,  I  did  recollect  that  Aris- 
tophanes did  not  scruple  to  resort  to  listening,  and  drawing 
conclusions  from  what  was  overheard,  when  a  man  rambled 
and  talked  broken  sentences  in  his  bed  asleep  and  dreaming  ; 
and  as  for  the  Roman  stage,  if  any  thing  could  apologize 
for  the  Major's  screen,  I  conceived  there  were  screens  in 
plenty  upon  that,  which  formed  separate  streets  and  entran- 
ces, which  concealed  the  actoi^  from  each  other,  and  gave 
occasion  to  a  great  deal  of  listening  and  over-hearing  in  theii* 
comedy. 

"  But  this  occurs,"  said  Lord  Ly ttleton,  "  from  the  con- 
"  struction  of  the  scene,  not  from  the  contrivance  and  intent 
^^  of  the  character,  as  in  your  case  ;  and  when  such  an  el- 
'^  pedient  is  resorted  to  by  an  officer  like  your  Major,  it  is 
"  discreditable  and  unbecoming  of  him  as  a  man  of  honour." 
This  was  decisive,  and  I  made  no  longer  any  struggle. — 
What  my  predecessors  in  the  drama,  who  had  been  dealers 
in  screens,  closets  and  key-holes  for  a  century  past,  would 
have  said  to  this  doctrine  of  the  noble  critic,  I  don't  pretend 
to  guess  :  it  would  have  made  sad  havoc  with  many  of  them 
and  cut  deep  into  their  property  ;  as  for  me,  I  had  so  weak 
a  cause  and  so  strong  a  majority  against  me,  (for  every  lady 
in  the  room  denounced  listeners)  that  all  I  could  do  was  to 
insert  without  loss  of  time  a  few  words  of  palliation  into  the 
Major's  part,  by  making  him  say  upon  resorting  to  his  hid- 
ing p. ace — ril  step,  behind  this  screen  and  listen  ;  a  good  sol- 
dier must  sometimes  fight  in  ambush  as  vjtll  as  in  the  open^ 
field. 

I  now  leave  this  criticism  to  the  consideration  of  those  in- 
genious men,  who  may  in  future  cultivate  the  stage  ;  I  could 
name  one  now  living,  who  has  made  such  happy  use  of  liis 
screen  in  a  comedy  of  the  veiy  first  merit,  that  if  Aristotle 
himself  had  v/ritten  a  whole  chapter  professedly  against 
screens,  and  Jerry  Collier  had  edited  it  with  notes  and  illus- 
trations,  I  would  not  have  placed  Lady  Teazle  out  of  ear- 
shot to  have  saved  their  ears  from  the  pillory  :  but  if  either 
of  these  worthies  could  have  pointed  out  an  expedient  to 
have  got  Jeseph  Surface  off  the  siuge,  pending  that  scene, 
with  any  reasonable  conformity  to  natui*^,  they  would  have 

N.     2. 


150  MEMOIRS  OF 

done  more  p:ood  to  the  drama  than  either  of  them  have  done 
harm  ;  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal. 

There  never  have  been  any  statute-laws  for  comedy  ; 
there  never  can  be  any  :  it  is  only  referable  to  the  unv»'ritten 
law  of  the  heart,  and  that  is  nature  ;  now  though  the  natural 
child  is  illegitimate,  the  natural  comedy  is  according  to  my 
conception  of  it  what  in  other  words  we  denominate  the 
legitimate  comedy.  If  it  represents  men  and  women  as 
they  are,  it  pictures  nature  ;  if  it  makes  monsters,  it  goes 
out  of  nature.  It  has  a  right  to  command  the  aid  of  spec- 
tacle, as  far  as  spectacle  is  properly  incidental  to  it,  but  if  it 
makes  its  serving-maid  its  mistress,  it  becomes  a  puppet- 
show,  and  its  actors  ought  to  speak  through  a  comb  behind 
the  scenes,  and  never  shew  their  foolish  faces  on  the  stage. 
If  the  author  conceives  himself  at  liberty  to  send  his  charac- 
ters on  and  off  the  stage  exactly  as  he  pleases,  and  thrust 
themselves  into  gentl emends  houses  and  private  chambers, 
as  if  they  could  walk  into  them  as  easy  as  they  can  walk 
through  the  side  scenes,  he  does  not  know  his  business ;  If 
lie  gives  you  the  interior  of  a  man  of  fashion's  family,  and 
does  not  speak  the  language,  or  reflect  the  manners,  of  a 
well-bred  person,  he  undertakes  to  describe  company  he  has 
never  hetn  admitted  to,  and  is  an  impostor  :  if  he  caimot  ex- 
hibit a  distressed  gentleman  on  the  scene  without  a  bailiff  at 
his  heels  to  arrest  him,  nor  reform  a  dissipated  lady  without 
a  spunging-hcuse  to  read  his  lectures  in,  I  am  sorry  for  his 
deaith  of  fancy,  and  lament  his  want  of  taste  :  if  he  cannot 
get  his  Pegasus  past  Nev/gate  without  his  restively  stop- 
ping like  a  post  horse  at  the  end  of  his  stage,  it  is  a  pity  he 
has  tauo'ht  him  such  unhandsome  customs :  if  he  permits 
the  actor,  whom  he  deputes  to  personate  the  rake  of  the  day 
to  copy  the  dress,  air,  attitude,  straddle  and  outrageous  in- 
decorum of  those  caricatures  in  our  print-shops,  which  keep 
no  terms  with  nature,  he  courts  the  galleries  at  the  expence 
of  decency,  and  degrades  himself,  his  actor,  and  the  stage  to 
catch  those  pl?aidits,  that  convey  no  fame,  and  do  not  elevate 
him  one  inch  above  the  keeper  of  the  beasts  of  the  Tower, 
who  puts  his  pole  between  the  bars  to  make  the  lion  roar. 
In  shoit  it  is  much  better,  more  justifiable  and  infinitely 
more  charitable,  to  write  nonsense  and  set  it  to  good  music, 
than  to  vv^rite  ribaldry,  and  impose  it  upon  good  actors. — 
But  of  this  more  fully  and  explicitly  hereafter,  when  com- 
^nitring  myself  andt  my  >yorks  to  the  judgment  of  posterity ^ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  151 

I  shall  take  leave  of  my  contemporaries,  und  ^vith  every  part- 
ing wish  for  theh' prosperity  sl-ali  bequeath  to  them  honestly 
and  without  reserve  all  that  my  observation  and  long  experi- 
ence can  sut^gest  for  their  edification  and  advantage. 

However,  before  I  quite  bid  farev/ell  to  The  West  Indian, 
I  must  mention  a  criticism,  which  I  picked  up  in  Rotten 
RoAv  from  Nugent  Lord  Clare,  not  ex-catht-dra^  but  from  the 
saddle  on  an  easy  trot.  His  Lordship  was  contented  with 
the  play  in  general,  but  he  could  not  relish  the  five  wives  of 
O'Fiaherty ;  they  were  four  too  many  for  an  honest  man, 
and  the  over-abundance  of  them  hurt  his  lordship's  feelings  ; 
I  thought  I  could  not  have  a  better  criterion  for  the  feelings 
of  other  people,  and  desired  Moody  to  manage  the  matter  as 
well  as  he  could  ;  he  put  in  the  qualifier  of  m  militaire^  and 
his  five  wives  brought  him  into  no  farther  trouble;  all  but  one 
were  left-handed,  and  he  had  German  practice  for  his  plea. 
Upon  the  whole  I  must  take  the  world's  word  for  the  merit 
of  the  West-Indian,  and  thankfully  suppose  that  what  they 
best  liked  was  in  fact  best  to  be  liked. 

A  little  straw  will  serve  to  light  a  great  fire,  and  after  the 
acting  of  The  West-Indian,  I  would  say,  if  the  comparison 
was  not  too  presumptuous,  I  was  almost  the  Master  Betty  c-f 
the  time  ;  but  as  I  dare  say  that  young  gentleman  is  even 
now  too  old  and  too  wise  to  be  spoilt  by  popularity,  so  was  I 
then  not  quite  boy  enough  to  be  tickled  by  it,  and  not  quite 
fool  enough  to  confide  in  it.  In  short  I  took  the  same  course 
then  which  he  is  taking  now  ;  as  he  keeps  on  acting  part 
after  part,  so  did  I  persist  in  writing  play  after  play  ;  and 
this,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  the  surest  course  we  either  of 
us  could  take  of  lunning  through  ou»  period  of  popularity, 
and  of  finding  our  true  level  at  the  conclusion  of  it. 

I  recollect  the  fate  of  a  young  artist  in  Northamptonshire^ 
who  was  famous  for  his  adroitness  in  pointing  and  repairing 
the  spires  of  church-steeples  ;  he  formed  his  scaffolds  with 
consummate  ingenuity,  and  mounted  his  ladders  witli  incre- 
dible success.  The  spire  of  the  churcli  of  Raunds  was  of 
prodigious  height ;  it  wer-peered  all  its  neighbours,  as 
Shakspeare  does  all  his  rivals ;  the  young  adventurer  was 
employed  to  fix  the  weather-cock  ;  he  mounted  to  the  top- 
most stone,  in  which  the  spindle  was  bedded;  universal 
plaudits  hailed  him  in  his  ascent ;  he  found  himself  at  the 
very  acme  of  his  fame,  but  glorious  ambition  tempted  him 
to  quit  his  ladder,  and  occupy  the  place  of  the  v/eather-cock, 


152  MEMOIRS  OF 

standing  upon  one  leg,  while  he  sung  a  song  to  amaze  the 
rustic  multitude  below :  what  the  song  was,  and  how  many- 
stanzas  he  lived  to  get  through  I  do  not  know  ;  he  sung  it  in 
too  large  a  theatre,  and  was  somewhat  out  of  hearing  ;  but 
it  is  in  my  memory  to  know  that  he  came  to  his  cadence  be- 
fore his  song  did,  and  falling  from  his  height  left  the  world 
to  draw  its  moral  from  his  melancholy  fate. 

I  now  for  the  first  time  entered  the  lists  of  controversy, 
and  took  up  the  gauntlet  of  a  renowned  champion  to  vindi- 
cate the  insulted  character  of  my  grandfather  Doctor  Bent- 
ley.  The  offensive  passage  met  me  in  a  pamphlet  Avritten 
by  Bishop  Lowth  professedly  against  Warburton,  acrimoni- 
ous enough  of  all  conscience  and  unepiscopally  intemperate 
in  the  highest  degree,  even  if  his  lordship  had  not  gone  out 
of  his  course  to  hurl  this  dirt  upon  the  coffin  of  my  ancestor. 
The  bishop  is  now  dead,  and  I  will  not  use  his  name  irreve- 
rently ;  my  gmndfather  was  dead,  yet  he  stept  aside  to  hook 
him  in  as  a  mere  -verbal  critic^  v/ho  in  matters  oftaste  and 
elegant  literature  he  asserts  was  contemptibly  deficient,  and 
then  he  resorts  to  his  Catullas  for  the  most  disgraceful  names 
he  can  give  him  as  a  scholar  or  a  gentleman,  and  says  he  was 
-aut  cafirhnulgus^  autfossor^  terms,  that  in  English,  would 
have  been  downright  blackguardism. 

All  the  world  knows  that  Warburton  and  Lowth  had  mouth- 
ed and  mumbled  each  other  till  their  very  bands  blushed  and 
their  lawn-sleeves  were  bloody.  I  should  have  thought  that 
the  prelate,  who  had  Warburton  for  his  antagonist,  would 
hardly  have  found  leisure  from  his  ov/n  self-defence  to  have 
turned  aside  and  fixed  his  teeth  in  a  bye-stander.  Yet  so  it 
was,  and  it  struck,  m^that  the  unmanly  unprovoked  attack 
not  only  warranted,  but  demanded,  a  remonstrance  from  the 
descendants  of  Doctor  Bentley.  I  stood  only  in  the  second 
degree  from  my  uncle  Richard,  and  as  much  below  him  in 
controversial  ability,  as  I  was  in  lineal  descent.  I  appealed 
therefore  in  the  first  place  to  him,  as  nearest  in  blood,  and 
strongest  in  capacity .  His  blood  however  was  not  in  the  tem- 
per to  ferment  as  mine  did,  and  with  a  philosophical  contempt 
for  this  sparring  of  pens  he  positively  declined  having  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  affair.  I  well  remember,  but  I  won't  de- 
scribe the  scene;  he  was  very  pleasant  witn  me,  and  remind- 
ed me  with  greeit  kindness  hov/  utierly  unequal  I  ought  to 
think  myself  for  undertaking  to  hold  an  argument  agciinst  Bi- 
shop Lowth.  He  was  perfectly  right  j  it  was  exactly  so  th^t  a 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  1^3 

sensible  Roman  would  have  talked  to  Curtiiis  before  he  took 
his  foolish  leap,  or  a  charitable  European  to  a  Bramin  wi- 
dow before  she  devoted  herself  to  the  flames  ;  but  my  ob- 
stinacy was  incorrigible.  At  length,  having  warned  me  that 
I  was  about  to  draw  a  complete  discomfiture  on  my  cause, 
he  prudently  conditioned  with  me  so  to  mark  myself  out, 
either  by  name  or  description,  in  the  title  of  my  pamphlet, 
as  that  he  should  stand  excused,  and  out  of  chance  of  being 
mistaken  for  its  author.  Nothing  could  be  more  reasonable, 
and  I  promised  to  comply  with  his  injunctions,  and  be  duly 
careful  of  his  safety.  This  I  fulfilled  by  describing  myself 
under  such  a  signature,  as  all  but  told  my  name,  and  could 
not  possii)ly,  as  I  conceived,  be  fathered  upon  him.  With 
this  he  was  content,  and  with  great  politeness,  in  which  no 
man  exceeded  him,  gave  me  his  hand  at  parting  and  wished 
me  a  good  deliverance. 

I  lost  no  time  in  addressing  myself  to  this  task  ;  it  soon 
grew  into  the  size  of  a  pamphlet ;  my  heart  was  v/arm  in 
the  subject,  and  as  soon  as  my  appeal  appeared  I  was  pub- 
licly known  to  be  the  author  of  it.  I  may  venture  to  say, 
that  weak  as  my  bow  was  presumed  to  be,  the  arrow  did  not 
miss  its  aim,  and  justice  universally  decided  for  me.  War- 
burton  had  candidly  apologized  to  Lowth  for  having  unknow- 
ingly hurt  his  feelings  by  some  glances  he  had  made  at  the 
person  of  a  deceased  relation  of  the  Bishop  of  Oxford,  and  I 
now  claimed  from  Lowth  the  same  candour,  which  he  had 
experienced  in  the  apology  of  Warburton.  This  was  unan- 
swerable, and  though  Bishop  Lowth  would  not  condescend 
to  offer  the  atonement  to  me,  which  he  had  exacted  and  re- 
ceived from  another,  still  he  had  the  grace  to  keep  silence, 
and  not  attempt  a  justification  of  himself,  and  that  which  he 
did  not  do  per  se^  he  would  not  permit  to  be  done  fier  alhun  ; 
for  I  have  reason  to  know  he  refused  the  voluntary  reply, 
tendered  to  him  by  a  certain  clergyman  of  his  diocese,  ac- 
knowledging that  I  had  just  reason  for  retaliation,  and  he 
thought  it  better  that  the  afiair  should  pass  over  in  silence 
on  his  part. 

lu  the  mean  time  my  pamphlet  went  through  two  full  edi- 
tions, and  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  the  judgment  of  the 
public  was  in  my  favour.     I  entitled  it  "-  A  Letter  to  the 

'*  Right  Reverend  the  Lord  Bishop  of  O d,  contaming 

•'•  some  animadversions  upon  a  character  given  of  the  late 
'  Doctor  Bentley  in  a  letter  from  a  late  Professor  in  the 


154  MEMOIRS  OF 

*^  University  of  Oxford,  to  the  Right  Reverend  Author  of 
"  the  Divine  Legation  of  Moses  demonstrated."— To  this  I 
subjoined,  by  way  of  motto, 

Jarn  jiarce  sepulto. 

The  following  paragraph  occurs  in  the  9th  page  of  this  j 
pamphlet,  and  is  fairly  pressed  upon  the  party  complained 

of -^'  Recollect,  my  Lord,  the  warmth,  the  piety,  with 

"  which  you  remonstrated  against  Bishop  W 's  treat- 

*'  ment  of  your  father  in  a  passage  of  his  Julian  : — It  is  noty 
"  (you  therein  say)  -bi  behalf  of  myself  thai  I  exfiostulate^  but 
"  of  one ^  for  whom  I  am  much  more  concerned^  that  is — my 
"  father.  These  are  your  lordship's  words— amiable,  af- 
"  fecting  expression  !  instructive  lesson  of  hiial  devotion  I 
"  alas,  my  lord,  that  you,  who  were  thus  sensible  to  the 
**  least  speck,  which  fell  upon  the  reputation  of  your  father, 
*^  should  be  so  invetci^ate  agiunst  the  fame  of  one,  at  least  as 
*'  eminent  and  perhaps  not  less  dear  to  his  family." 

I  had  traced  his  cafirimulgus  autfossor  up  to  its  source  in 
one  of  the  most  uncleanly  samples  in  Catullus,  and  in  that 
iiame  satire  I  was  led  to  the  character  of  Sulfenus,  who  seem- 
ed made  for  the  very  purposes  of  retort.  My  uncle  Bentley 
stood  clear  from  all  suspicion  of  being  guilty  of  the  pam- 
phlet, with  the  exception  of  one  old  gentleman  only,  Mr. 
Commissary  Greaves  of  Fulborne  in  Cambridgshire,  a  man 
of  fortune  and  consequence  in  his  county,  who  had  ever  pro- 
fessed a  great  esteem  for  the  memory  of  my  grandfather, 
with  whom  he  had  lived  in  great  intimacy,  and  to  wliom  I 
believe  he  acknowledged  some  important  obligations.  This  • 
vrorthy  old  gentleman  had  made  a  small  mistake  as  to  the 
merit  of  the  pamphlet,  and  a  great  one  as  to  the  author ;  for  he 
complimented  the  writing,  and  sent  a  handsome  present  to 
the  supposed  writer.  When  this  mistake  v/as  no  longer  a 
secret  from  Mr.  Greaves,  and  I  received  not  a  syllable  on 
the  subject  from  him,  I  sent  him  the  following  letter,  of 
which  I  chanced  upon  the  copy,  for  the  better  understanding 
of  which  I  must  premise  that  he  had  sent  me  notice,  through 
my  relation  Doctor  Bentley  of  Nailstone,  of  a  present  of 
books,  which  he  had  designed  for  me,  when  I  was  a  student 
at  college,  amounting  in  value  to  twenty  pounds,  but  which 
promise  he  excused  himself  from  performing,  because  there 
had  been  a  wet  season,  and  some  of  his  fen  lands  had  been 
under  water — 

Mv  letter  was  as  follov/s-— 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  153 

"  Dear  Sir, 

"  When  in  the  warmth  of  your  affection  for  the 
*'  memory  of  my  grandfather  you  could  praise  a  pamphlet 
^'  written  by  me,  and  address  your  praises  to  my  uncle,  as 
*'  supposing  him  to  be  the  author  of  it,  I  am  more  flattered 
"  by  your  mistake,  than  I  will  attempt  to  express  to  you. 
''  You  have  ever  been  so  good  to  me,  that  had  your  com- 
*•  mendations  been  directed  rightly,  I  must  have  ascribed 
'^  the  greater  share  of  them  to  your  charitable  interpretation 
*'  of  my  zeal,  and  the  rest  I  should  have  placed  to  the  ac- 
"  count  of  your  politeness. 

"  When  I  was  an  Under-graduate  at  Trinity  college, 
^'  you  was  so  obliging  as  to  let  me  be  informed  of  your  in- 
^'  tention  to  encourage  p.nd  assist  me  in  my  studies,  and 
"  though  circumstances  at  that  time  intervened  to  postpone 
''  your  kind  design,  you  have  so  abundantly  overpaid  me, 
**  that  I  have  no  greater  ambition  now  at  heart  than  that  I 
''  may  continue  so  to  write  as  to  be  mistaken  for  my  uncle, 
**  and  you  so  to  approve  of  what  you  read,  as  to  see  fresh  cause 
^'  of  applauding  him,  who  is  so  truly  deserving  of  every  fa- 
^'  vour  you  can  bestow." 

<^  I  have  the  honour  to  be,"  &c. 
'^  To  William  Graves,  Esquire, 
"  Fuibourne." 

Before  I  quite  dismiss  this  subject  I  beg  leave  to  address 
a  very  few  words  to  my  friend  Mr.  Hay  ley,  who  in  his  dt- 
sultory  remarks^  prefixed  to  his  third  volume  of  Cov/per's 
Letters,  has  in  his  mild  and  civil  manner  made  merciless 
and  uncivil  sport  with  Doctor  Bentley's  character.  1  give 
him  notice  that  I  meditate  to  wreak  an  exemplary  vengeance 
upon  him,  for  I  will  publish  in  these  memoirs  a  copy  of 
his  verses,  (very  elegant  in  themselves,  and  extremely  flat- 
tering to  me)  which  I  have  carefully  preserved,  and  from 
which  I  shall  derive  two  very  considerable  advantages — the 
4)ne  will  be  the  credit  of  having  such  a  sample  of  good  poet- 
ry in  my  book ;  the  other  the  malicious  gratification  of  con- 
vincing my  readers,  that  Mr.  Hayley,  with  all  his  genius, 
does  not  know  where  to  apply  it,  praising  the  grandson, 
who  is  not  worthy  of  his  praise,  and  censuring  the  grandfa- 
ther, whom,  as  a  scholar  of  the  highest  class,  he  of  all  men 
living  ought  not  to  have  treated  with  flippancy  and  derision. 

And  now  methinks  since  I  have  vowed  this  vengeance, 
I  will  not  let  it  r^lde  iu  my  heart,  neither  will  I  longer 


156  MEMOIRS  OF 

withhold  from  my  readers  the  verses  I  have  promised  them, 
which,  though  entitled  an  impromtu  by  their  elegant  au- 
thor, I  have  not  suffered  to  vanish  out  of  my  possession  with 
the  rapidity,  that  they  have  probably  slipt  out  of  his  recol- 
lection. If  he  shall  be  angry  with  me  for  publishing  them, 
I  desire  he  will  believe,  there  is  not  a  man  living,  who  would 
not  do  as  I  have  done,  when  flatterred  by  the  m.use  of  Hay- 
ley  :  if  the  following  hasty  and  unstudied  stanzas  are  not  so 
good  as  others  of  his  finished  compositions,  they  are  still 
better  than  any  one  else  would  write,  or  could  Avrite,  upon 
so  barren  a  subject — 

*^  Imfiromfitu  on  a  Letter   cf  Mr.  Cu7nbe7'land'sj  most  liber- 
"  alli/  co?nmending  a  poem  of  the  author' s-^^ 

"  Kind  nature  with  delight  regards, 

"  And  glories  to  impart, 
"  To  her  bold  race  of  genuine  bards 

"  Simplicity  of  heart. 

"  But  gloomy  spleen,  who  stillarraigns 

"  Whate'er  we  lovely  call, 
^^  Hath  said  that  all  poetic  veins 

<'  Are  ting'd  with  envious  gall. 

"  Each  bard,  she  said,  would  strike  to  eani\ 

"  His  rival's  wreath  of  fame, 
'*  Nor  ever  to  inferior  worth 

"  Allow  its  humble  claim. 

"  But  nature  with  a  noble  pride 

"  Maintain'd  her  injiir'd  cause — 
*^  O  Spleen,  peruse  these  lines,"  she  cried, 

"Of  Cumberland's  applause  I 

*•  Enough  by  me  hast  thou  been  told 

"Of  his  poetic  art  ; 
"  Now  in  his  generous  praise  behold 

"  The  genius  of  his  heart  !" 

'•   The  sullen  sprite  with  shame  confess'd 

"  Her  sordid  maxim  vain, 
"  And  own'd  the  true  poetic  breast 

Unconscious  of  the  stain. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  157 

Whilst  I  have  been  relating  the  circumstances,  that  in- 
duced me  to  appeal  to  the  world  against  so  great  a  man  as 
Bishop  Lowth,  and  considering  within  myself  how  far  I  was 
justiiied  in  that  apparently  presumptuous  measure,  some 
thoughts  have  struck  me,  as  I  went  on  with  my  detail, 
which  all  arose  out  of  the  subject  I  was  upon,  though  they 
do  not  personally  apply  to  the  parties  I  have  been  speaking 
of:  And  after  .lil  where  is  the  difference  between  man  and 
man,  so  ascendant  on  one  side,  and  so  depressive  on  the 
other,  as  should  give  to  this  an  authority  to  insult,  and  take 
from  that  the  privilege  of  remonstrance  ?  It  is  a  truth  not 
sufficiently  enforced,  and  when  enforced,  not  always  admit- 
ted, though  one  of  the  most  useful  and  important  for  :he  go- 
vernment of  our  conduct,  and  this  it  is — that  every  man, 
hov/ever  great  in  station  or  in  fortune,  is  mutually  depen- 
dent upon  those,  who  are  dependent  upon  him.  In  a  social 
state  no  man  can  be  truly  said  to  be  safe  who  is  not  under 
the  protection  of  his  fellow-creatures  ;  no  man  can  be  called 
happy,  who  is  not  possessed  of  their  good  v/iil  and  good 
opinion  :  for  God  never  yet  endowed  a  human  creature  with 
sensibility  to  feel  an  insult,  but  that  he  gave  him  also  powers 
to  express  his  feelings,  and  propensity  to  revenge  it. 

The  meanest  and  most  feeble  insect,  that  is  provided  with 
a  sting,  may  pierce  the  eye  of  the  elephant,  on  whose  very 
ordure  it  subsists  and  feeds. 

Every  human  being  has  a  sting  ;  why  then  does  an  over- 
grown piece  of  mortal  clay  arrogantly  attempt  to  bestride  the 
7iarrow  n'orld^  and  launch  his  artificial  thunder  from  a  l^ridge 
of  brass  upon  us  poor  underlings  in  creation  ?  And  v/hen  v/e 
venture  to  lift  up  our  heads  in  the  crov/d,  and  cry  out  to  the 
folks  about  us — "  This  is  mere  mock  thunder  ;  this  is  no 
'^  true  Jupiter  ;  we'll  not  truckle  to  his  tyranny," — w^hy  will 
some  good-natured  friend  be  ever  ready  to  pluck  us  by  tlic 
sleeve,  and  whisper  in  our  ear — "  What  are  you  about  ? 
"  Recollect  yourself  !  he  is  a  giant,  a  man-mountain  ;  you 
'^  are  a  grub,  a  worm,  a  beetle  ;  he'll  crush  you  under  his 
^^  foot ;  he'll  tread  you  into  atoms" — not  considering,  or 
rather  not  caring — . 

*'  That  the  poor  beetle,  which  he  trod  upon, 
"  In  mental  suffrance  felt  a  pang  as  great, 
^'  As  what  a  monarch  feels" 

Let  no  man,  who  belongs  to  a  community,  presume  to 
*^ay  that  he  is  independent.     There  is  no  such  condition  in 


158  -  MEMOIRS  OF 

society.  Thank  God,  our  virtues  are  our  best  defence..— i^ 
Conciliation,  mildness,  charity,  benevolence—^^  tebi  erun 
artis. 

Are  there  not  spirits  continually  starting  out  from  the 
mass  of  mankind,  like  red-hot  flakes  from  the  hammer  of 
the  blacksmith  ?  And  are  not  these  to  be  feared,  who  are 
capable  of  setting  a  whole  city — aye,  even  a  whole  kingdom, 
in  flames,  let  them  only  fall  upon  the  train,  that  is  prepared 
for  them  !  Who  then  will  under-write  a  strutting  fallow  in  a 
lofty  station,  pufP'd  up  with  brit^f  authority^  who  won't  an- 
swer a  gentleman's  letter,  or  allow  his  visit,  when  he  asks 
admission  !  If  he  had  the  integrity  of  Aristides,  the  wisdom 
of  Solon  and  the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes,  there  would  be 
the  congregation  of  an  incalculable  multitude  to  sing  Te 
Deum  at  his  downfal.  He  will  find  himself  in  the  plight  of 
the  poor  Arab,  who  mcv;le  his  cream-tarts  without  pepper  ; 
for  want  of  a  little  wholesome  seasoning  he  will  have  marred 
his  whole  batch  of  pastry,  and  be  condemned  for  a  bad  baker 
to  the  pillory. 

A  m.an  shall  sin  against  the  whole  decalogue,  and  in  this 
world  escape  with  more  impunity,  than  the  proud  fellow, 
that  oflends  against  no  commandment,  yet  provokes  you  to 
detest  him.  I  know  not  how  to  liken  him  to  any  thing  aiiye, 
except  it  be  to  the  melancholy  mute  recluse  of  the  convent 
of  La  Trappe,  who  has  no  employment  in  life  but  to  dig  his 
own  gi^ave,  no  other  society  but  to  keep  company  with  his 
own  coflin.  If  I  look  for  his  resemblance  amongst  the  irra- 
tionals, I  should  compare  him  to  a  poor  disconsolate  ass, 
whom  nobody  owns  and  nobody  befriends.  The  man  who 
has  a  cudgel,  bestows  it  on  his  back^  and  when  he  brays  out 
his  piteous  lamentations,  the  dissonance  of  his  tones  provoke 
no  compassion  ;  they  jarr  the  ear,  but  never  move  the  heart. 

A  certain  duke  of  Alva  about  a  century  ago  was  the  most 
popular  man  in  Spain :  the  people  perfectly  adored  him. 
— He  had  a  revolution  in  his  power  every  day  that  he  stept 
without  his  doors.  The  prime  minister  truckled  to  him  ; 
the  king  trembled  at  him.  How  he  acquired  this  extraordi- 
nary degree  of  influence  was  a  mystery,  that  seemed  to 
puzzle  all  conjecture — ^notby  his  eloquence,  or  those  powers 
of  declamation  v/hich  captivate  a  mob  ;  the  illustrious  per- 
sonage coilld  not  string  three  sentences  together  into  com- 
mon sense  or  uncommon  nonsense  ;  wit  he  had  none,  and 
virtue  he  by  no  means  abounded  in  ;  few  men  in  Spain  were 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  15^ 

supposed  to  be  more  unprincipled  ;  if  you  conceived  it  was 
by  his  munificence  and  generosity,  he  could  have  told  you 
n6  man  bought  his  popularity  so  cheap,  for  when  the  secret 
came  out,  he  confessed,  that  the  whole  mystery  consisted  in 
his  wearing  out  a  few  more  hats  in  the  ypar  than  others  sa- 
crificed, who  did  not  take  ofr  theirs  so  often. 

I  knew  a  gentleman,  who  was  the  very  immediate  con- 
trast to  this  Spanish  duke  ;  he  ^as  a  man  of  strict  morality, 
who  fulfilled  the  duties  and  observed  the  decorum  of  his  pro- 
fession in  the  most  exemplary  manner  ;  in  his  meditative 
walk  one  summer  morning  he  was  greeted  by  a  country  fel- 
low with  the  customary  salutation — "  Good^morning  to  you, 
"  Sir  ! — a  fine  day — a  pleasant  walk  to  you  1" — "  I  don't 
*^  know  you,"  he  replied,  "  why  do  you  interrupt  me  with 
*^  your  familiarity  ?  I  did  not  speak  to  you  ;  put  your  hat 
"  upon  your  head,  and  pass  on  !" — ''  so  I  will,"  cried  the 
feliow,  *<  and  never  take  it  off  again  to  such  a  proud  puppy, 
*'  whilst  I  have  a  head  upon  my  shoulders — "  There  never 
was  a  hat  stirred  to  that  man  from  that  day,  and  had  he  fallen 
into  a  ditch,  I  question  if  there  would  hc^ve  been  a  hand  stir- 
red to  heve  helped  him  out  of  it. 

I  return  to  my  narrative — I  had  a  house  in  Queen-Anne- 
Street- West  at  the  corner  of  Win^pole-Street,  I  lived  there 
many  years  ;  my  friend  Mr.  Fitzherbert  lived  in  the  same 
street,  and  Mr.  Burke  nearly  opposite  to  me.  I  was  sur- 
prised one  morning  at  an  early  hour  by  a  visit  from  an  old 
clergyman,  the  Reverend  Decimus  Reynolds.  I  knew  there 
was  such  a  person  in  existence,  and  that  he  w^as  the  son  of 
Bishop  Reynolds  by  my  father's  aunt,  and  of  course  his  first 
cousin,  but  I  had  never  seen  him  to' my  knowledge  in  my  life, 
and  he  came  now  at  an  hour  when  I  was  so  particularly  en- 
gaged that  I  should  have  denied  myself  to  him  but  that  he 
had  called  once  or  twice  before  and  been  disappointed  of 
seeing  me.  I  had  my  office  papers  before  me,  and  my  wife 
was  makmg  my  tea,  that  I  might  get  down  to  Whitehall  in 
time  for  my  business,  and  the  coach  was  waiting  at  the  clour. 
He  was  shewn  into  the  room  ;  a  more  uncouth  person,  habit 
and  address  was  hardly  to  be  met  with  :  he  advanced,  stopt, 
and  stood  staring  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  me  for  some  time, 
when,  putting  his  hand  into  a  pocket  in  the  lining  of  the 
breast  of  his  coat,  he  drew  out  an  old  packet  of  paper  rolled 
up  and  tied  with  whip-cord,  and  very  ceremoniously  desired 
me  to  peruse  it.     I  begged  to  know  what  it  was  ;  for  it  was 


160  MEMOIRS  OF 


1 


a  work  of  time  to  unravel  the  knots— he  replied — "  My 
will."  And  what  am  I  to  do  ^vith  your  will,  Sir  ? — ^^'  My 
heir — "  Well,  Sir,  and  who  is  your  heir?  (I  really  did  not 
understand  him) — "  Richard  Cumberland — look  at  the  date 
"  — left  it  to  you  twenty  years  ago— my  whole  estate — real 
"  and  personal — come  to  town  on  purpose— brought  up  my 
*^  little  deeds— put  them  into  your  hands — sign  a  deed  of 
*'  gift,  and  make  them  over  to  you  hard  and  fast." 

All  this  v/hile  I  had  not  looked  at  his  will  ;  I  did  not  know 
he  had  any  property,  or,  if  he  had,  I  had  no  guess  where  it 
lay,  nor  did  I  so  much  as  know  whereabouts  he  lived.  Ii\ 
tlie  mean  time  he  delivered  himself  in  so  strange  a  style,  by 
starts  and  snatches,  with  long  pauses  and  strong  sentences, 
that  I  suspected  him  to  be  deranged,  and  I  saw  by  the  ex- 
pression of  my  wife's  countenance,  that  she  was  under  the 
same  suspicion  also.  I  now  cast  my  eye  upon  the  will  ;  I 
found  my  name  there  as  his  heir,  under  a  date  of  twenty 
years  past ;  It  was  therefore  no  sudden  caprice,  and  I  con- 
jured him  to  tell  me  if  he  had  any  cause  of  quarrel  or  dis- 
pleasure with  his  nearer  relations.  Upon  this  he  sate  do^vn, 
took  some  time  to  compose  himself,  for  he  had  been  great- 
ly agitated,  and  having  recovered  his  spirits,  answered  me 
deliberately  and  calmly,  that  he  had  no  immediate  matter 
of  offence  with  his  relations,  but  he  had  no  obligations  to 
them  of  any  sort,  and  had  been  entirely  the  founder  of  his 
own  fortune,  which  by  marriage  he  had  acquired  and  by 
ceconomy  improved.  I  stated  to  him  that  my  friend  and 
cousin  Mr.  Richard  Reynolds,  of  Paxton  in  Huntingdon- 
shire, was  his  natural  hei^',  and  a  man  of  most  unexception- 
able woith  and  good  character  :  he  did  not  deny  it,  but  he 
was  wealthy  and  childless,  and  he  had  bequeathed  it  to  me, 
as  his  will  would  testify,  twenty  years  ago,  as  being  the 
representative  of  the  maternal  branch  of  his  family  :  in  fine 
he  required  of  me  to  accompany  him  to  my  conveyancer, 
and  direct  a  positive  deed  of  gift  to  be  drawn  up,  for  which 
purpose  he  had  brought  his  title  deeds  with  him,  and  should 
leave  them  in  my  hands.  He  added  in  further  vmdication  of 
his  motives,  that  my  father  had  been  ever  his  most  valued 
friend,  that  he  had  constantly  watched  my  conduct  and  scru- 
tenized  my  character,  although  he  had  not  seen  occasion  to 
establish  any  personal  acquaintance  with  me.  Upon  this 
explanation,  and  the  evidence  of  his  having  inherited  no 
atom  of  his  fortune  from  his  paternal  line,  I  accepted  his 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  l6i 

bounty  so  far  as  to  appoint  the  next  mornini^  for  callini^  on 
Mr.  Heron,  who  then  had  chambers  in  Gray's  Inn,  when  I 
would  state  the  case  to  him,  and  refer  myself  to  his  judg- 
ment and  good  counsel.  The  result  of  my  confcrrencc  with 
the  lately  deceased  Sir  Richard  Heron  was  the  insertion  of 
a  clause  of  resumption,  empowering  the  doner  to  revoke  his 
deed  at  any  future  time  when  he  should  see  fit,  and  this 
clause  I  particularly  pointed  out  to  my  benefactor  when  he 
signed  the  deed. 

It  was  with  difficulty  I  prevailed  upon  him  to  admit  it,  and 
can  witness  to  the  uneasiness  it  gave  him,  whilst  he  prophet- 
ically said  I  had  left  him  exposed  to  the  solicitations  and  re- 
monstrances of  his  nephews,  and  that  the  time  might  come, 
when  in  the  debility  of  age  and  irresolution  of  mind,  he  might 
be  pressed  into  a  revocation  of  what  he  had  decided  upon  as 
the  most  deliberate  act  of  his  life. 

My  kind  old  friend  stood  a  long  siege  before  he  suffered 
his  prediction  to  take  place  ;  for  it  was  not  till  after  nearly 
ten  years  of  uninterrupted  cordiality,  that,  weak  and  weari- 
ed out  by  importunity,  he  capitulated  with  his  besiegers, 
and,  and  sending  his  nephew  into  my  house  in  Queen-Ann 
Street  unexpectedly  one  morning,  surprised  me  with  a  de- 
mand, that  I  would  render  back  the  whole  of  his  title  deeds  : 
I  delivered  them  up  exactly  as  I  had  received  them  ;  his  mes- 
senger put  them  into  his  hackney  coach  and  departed. 

In  consequence  of  tiiis  proceeding  I  addressed  the  follow- 
ing letterto  the  Reverend  Mr.  Decimus  Reynolds  at  Clophiil 
in  Bedfordshire. 

"  Que  en -Ann -Street, 

"  Monday  13th  Jtyi.  1779, 
"  Dear  Sir, 

"  I  received  your  letter  by  the  conveyance  of 
"  Major  George  Reynolds,  and  in  obedience  to  your  com- 
"  mands  have  resigned  into  his  hands  all  your  title  deeds, 
"  entrusted  to  my  custody.  I  would  have  had  a  sciicdule 
"  taken  of  them  by  Mr.  Kipling  for  your  better  satisfaction 
"  and  security,  but  as  your  directions  Avere  peremptory, 
"  and  Major  Reynolds,  wlio  was  ill,  might  have  been  pre- 
"  judiced  by  any  delay,  I  thought  it  best  to  put  them  into 
"  his  hands  witiiout  further  form,  which  be  assured  I  have 
"  done  without  the  omission  of  one,  for  they  have  lain  undei^ 
**  seal  at  my  banker's  ever  since  they  have  been  committed 
**  to  my  care. 

'»  O  a 


^63  MEMOIRS  OF 

^^  Whatever  motives  may  gavern  you,  dear  Sir,  for  re» 
"  calling  either  your  confidence,  or  your  bounty,  from  me 
"  and  my  family,  be  assured  you  will  still  possess  and  retain 
"  my  gratitude  and  esteem  I  have  only  a  second  time  lost 
"  a  father,  and  I  am  now  too  much  in  the  habit  of  disap- 
"  pointment  and  misfortune,  not  to  acquiesce  with  patience 
"  under  the  dispensation. 

".  You  well  can  recollect,  that  your  first  bounty  was  un- 
"  expected  and  unsolicited  :  it  would  have  been  absolute,  if 
"  I  had  not  thought  it  for  my  reputation  to  make  it  condi- 
"  tional,  and  subject  to  your  revocation  :  perhaps  I  did  not. 
"  believe  you  would  revoke  it,  but  since  you  have  been  in- 
^'  duced  to  wish  it,  believe  me  I  rejoice  in  the  reflection^ 
"  that  every  thing  has  been  done  by  me  for  your  accommo- 
*'  dation,  and  I  had  rather  my  children  would  inherit  an  ho- 
"  iiourable  poverty,  than  an  amplejpatrimony,  which  caused 
"  the  giver  of  it  one  moment  of  regret. 

"  I  believe  I  have  some  few  papers  still  at  Tetworth, 
"  which  I  received  from  you  in  the  country.  I  shall  shortly 
"  go  down  thither,  and  will  wait  upon  you  with  them.  At 
*^  the  same  time,  if  you  wish  to  have  the  original  convey- 
"  ance  of  your  lands,  as  drawn  by  Sir  Richard  Heron, 
"  I  shall  obey  you  by  returning  it :  the  uses  being  cancelled, 
"  the  form  can  be  of  little  value,  and  I  can  bear  in  memory 
^^  your  former  goodness  without  such  a  remembnmcer. 

;, "  Mrs.  Cumberland  and  my  daughters  join  me  in  love  and 
^^•rrespects  to  you  and  Mrs.  Reynolds,  whom  by  this  occa^ 
"  sion  I  beg  to  thank  for  all  her  kindness  to  me  and  mine. 
*'  I  spoke  yesterday  to  Sir  Richard  Heron"  [Sir  Richard 
Heron  was  Chief  Secretary  in  Ireland]  "  and  pressed  with 
*'  more  than  common  earnestness  upon  him  to  fulfil  your 
"  wishes  in  favour  of  Mr.  Decimus  Reynolds  in  Ireland. 
"  It  would  be  much  satisfiction  to  me  to  hear  the  deeds 
"  came  safe  to  hand,  and  I  hope  you  will  favour  me  with  a 
"  line  to  say  so. 

"  I  am^  iD'c.  ^c. 

"  R.  C." 

I  have  been  tlie  more  particular  in  the  detail  of  this  trans- 
action, because  I  had  been  unfairly  represented  by  a  rela- 
tion, whom  in  the  former  pait  of  these  memoirs  I  have  re- 
corded as  the  friend  of  my  youth  ;  a  man,  whom  I  dearly  lov- 
ed, QMil  towards  whom  I  had  conducted  myself  through  the 
'-vhole  progress  of  this  affaii'  v/ith  the  strictest  honour  and 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  163 

good  faith,  voluntarily  subjecting:  myself,  the  father  of  six 
cliilclren,  to  be  deprived  of  a  valuable  gift,  which  the  be- 
stower  of  it  wished  to  have  been  absolute  and  irrevocable. 

That  relation  is  yet  living,  and  by  some  few  years  an  old- 
er man  than  I  am.  Though  I  may  have  ceased  to  live  in  his 
remembrance,  he  has  not  lost  his  place  in  my  affection  and 
regard.  I  wish  him  health  and  happiness  for  ti.e  remainder 
of  his  days,  and,  in  the  tne  perfect  consciousness  of  having 
merited  more  kindness  than  I  have  received,  bid  him  hear- 
tily farewxll. 

There  was  more  celebrity  attached  to  the  success  of  a  new 
play  in  the  days,  of  which  I  am  speaking,  than  in  the  per- 
sent  time  when— 

Portents  and  prodigies  are  ^rown  so  frequent^ 
That  they  have  lost  their  name. 

The  happy  hit  of  The  West-Idian  drew  a  considerable  re- 
sort of  the  friends  and  followers  of  the  Muses  to  my  house. 
J  was  superlatively  blest  in  a  wdfe,  who  conducted  my  family 
with  due  attention  to  my  circumstances,  yet  with  every  ele- 
gance and  comfort,  that  could  render  it  a  welcome  and  agree- 
able rendezvous  to  my  guests.  I  had  six  children,  whose 
birth  days  were  comprised  within  the  period  of  six  years,  and 
they  were  by  no  means  trained  and  educated  with  that  lax- 
ity of  discipline,  which  renders  so  many  houses  terrible  to 
the  visitor,  and  almost  justifies  Foote  in  his  professed  vene- 
ration for  the  character  of  Herod.  My  young  ones  stood 
like  little  soldiers  to  be  reviewed  by  those,  who  wished  to 
have  them  drawn  up  for  inspection,  and  were  dismissed  like 
soldiers  at  a  word.  Few  parents  had  more  excuse  for  being 
vain  than  my  wife  and  I  had,  for  I  may  be  ?Howed  to  say  my 
daughters  even  then  gave  promise  of  that  grace  and  beauty, 
for  which  they  afterwards  became  so  generally  and  conspicu- 
ously noticed  ;  and  my  four  boys  wxre  not  behind  them  in 
form  or  feature,  though  hot  climates  and  hard  duty  by  sea 
and  land,  in  the  service  of  their  king  and  country,  have  laid 
two  of  them  in  distant  graves,  and  rendered  the  survivors 
war-worn  veterans  before  their  time.  Even  poor  Fitzher- 
bert,  fiiy  unhappy  and  lamented  friend,  with  all  his  fond  be- 
nignity of  soul  could  not  with  his  caresses  introduce  a  relax- 
ation of  discipline  in  the  ranks  of  our  small  infantry  ;  and 
tlioug;h  Garrick  could  charm  a  circle  of  them  about  him  whilst 


164  MEMOIRS  OF 

he  acted  the  turkey-cocks,  and  peacocks,  and  water-wagtails 
to  their  infinite  and  undescribable  amusement,  yet  at  the  word 
or  even  look  of  the  mother,  himotusanimorumwev^  instantly 
composed,  and  order  re-established,  whenever  it  became 
time  to  release  their  generous  entertainer  from  the  trouble 
of  his  exertions. 

Ah  !  1  would  wish  the  world  to  believe,  that  they  take  but 
a  very  short  and  impartial  estimate  of  that  departed  charac-  , 
ter,  who  only  appreciate  him  as  the  best  actor  in  the  world  :  ^ 
he  was  more  and  better  than  that  excellence   alone  could  \ 
make  him  by  a  thousand  estimable  qualities,  and  much  as  I ; 
enjoyed  his  company,  I  have  been  more  gratified  by  the , 
emanations  of  his  heart  than  by  the  sallies  of  his  fancy  and 
imagination.     Nature  had  done  so  much  for  him,  that  he 
could  not  help  being  an  actor  ;    she  gave  him  a  frame  of  so 
manageable  a  proportion,  and  from  its  flexibility  so  perfectly 
under  command,  that  by  its  aptitude  and  elasticity  he  could 
draw  it  out  to  fit  any  sizes  of  character,  that  tragedy  could 
ofter  to  him,  and  contract  it  to  any  scale  of  ridiculous  dimi- 
nution, that  his  Abel  Drugger,  Scrub,  or  Fribble,  could  re- 
quire of  him  to  sink  it  to.     His  eye  in  the  mean  time  was  so 
penetrating,  so  speaking  ;  his  brow  so  moveable,  and  all  his 
features  so  plastic,  and  so  accommodating,  that  wherever  his 
mind  impelled  them  they  would  go,  and  before  his  tongue- 
could  give  the  text,  his  countenance  would  express  the  spirit 
and  tlie  passion  of  the  part  he  was  encharged  with. 

I  always  studied  the  assortment  of  the  characters,  who  ho- 
noured me  with  their  company,  so  as  never  to  bring  uncon- 
genial humours  into  contact  with  each  other.  How  often  have 
I  seen  all  the  0!)jects  of  society  frustrated  by  inattention  to 
the  proper  grouping  of  the  guests  !  The  sensibility  of  some 
men  of  genius  is  -so  quick  and  captious,  that  you  must  first 
consider  whom  they  can  be  happy  with,  before  you  can  pro- 
mise yourself  any  happiness  with  tlicm.  A  rivalry  in  wit 
and  humour  will  oftentimes  render  both  parties  silent,  and 
put  them  on  their  guard  ;  if  a  chance  hit,  or  lucky  sally,  on 
the  part  of  a  competitor,  engrosses  trie  applause  of  the  table, 
ten  to  one  if  the  stricken  cock  ever  crows  upon  the  pit  agaui : 
a  matte r-ot-fact  man  wVil  make  a  pleasant  feilow  sullen,  and 
and  a  suUen  fellow,  if  provoked  by  raillery,  will  distu:  >  the 
comforts  of  the  whole  society. 

It  is  tiresome  listening  to  the  nonsense  of  those,  who  can 
talk  nothing  else,  but  nonsense  talked  by  men  of  wit  andun- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  1^^ 

(lerstancUng,  in  the  hour  of  relaxation,  is  of  the  very  finest 
essence  of  conviviality,  and  a  treat  delicious  to  those,  who 
have  the  sense  to  comprehend  it.  1  have  known,  and  coul4 
name  many,  who  understood  this  art  in  its  perfection,  but  a^ 
it  implies  a  trust  in  the  company,  not  always  to  be  riskedi 
their  practice  of  it  was  not  very  frequent. 

.J^aillery  is  of  all  weapons  the  most  dangerous  and  two« 
edged  ;  of  course  it  ought  never  to  be  handled,  but  by  a  gen- 
tleman, and  never  should  be  played  with,  but  upon  a  gentle- 
man ;  the  familiarity  of  a  low-born  vulgar  man  is  dreadful ; 
bis  raillery,  his  jocularity,  like  the  shaking  of  a  water-spa^ 
niel,  can  never  fail  to  soil  you  with  some  sprinkling  of  the 
dunghill,  out  of  which  he  sprung. 

A  disagreement  about  a  name  or  a  date  will  mar  the  best 
story,  that  was  ever  put  together.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
luckily  could  not  hear  an  interrupter  of  this  sort ;  Johnson 
w^oiild  not  hear,  or  if  he  heard  him,  would  not  heed  him;  • 
Spame  Jenyns  heard  him,  heeded  him,  set  him  right,  and 
took  up  his  tale,  where  he  had  left  it,  without  any  diminution 
pf  its  humour,  adding  only  a  few  more  twists  to  his  snuff-box, 
a  few  more  taps  upon  the  lid  of  it,  with  a  preparatory  grunt 
or  two,  the  invariable  forerunners  of  the  amenity,  that  was 
at  the  heels  of  them.  He  was  the  man,  who  bore  his  part  in 
all  societies  with  the  most  even  temper  and  undisturbed  hi- 
larity of  all  the  good  companions,  wiiom  I  ever  knew.  He 
came  into  your  house  at  the  very  moment  you  had  put  upon 
your  card ;  he  dressed  himself  to  do  your  party  honour  in 
all  the  colours  of  the  jay  ;  his  lace  indeed  had  long  since  lost 
its  lustre,  but  his  coat  had  faithfully  retained  its  cut  since  the 
days  when  gentlemen  wore  embroidered  figured  velvets  with 
short  sleeves,  boot  cuffs,  and  buckram  skirts  ;  as  nature  had 
cast  him  in  the  exact  mould  of  an  ill-made  pair  of  stiff  stays, 
he  followed  her  so  close  in  the  fashion  of  his  coat,  that  it  was 
doubted  if  he  did  not  wear  them  :  because  he  had  a  protu- 
berant wen  just  under  his  pole,  he  wore  a  wig,  that  did  not 
cover  above  half  his  head.  His  eyes  were  protuded  like  the 
eyes  of  the  lobster,  who  wears  them  at  the  end  of  his  feel- 
ers, and  yet  thei^e  was  room  between  one  of  these  and  his 
npse  for  another  wen  that  added  nothing  to  his  beauty;  yet  I 
heard  this  good  man  very  innocently  remark,  when  Gibbon 
published  his  history,  that  he  w^ondered  any  body  so  ugly 
could  write  a  book. 

Such  was  the  exterior  of  a  man,  w^ho  was  the  charm  of  the 
circle,  and  gave  a  zest  to  every  company  he  came  into  ;  his 


166  MEMOIRS  OF 

pleasantry  was  of  a  sort  peculiar  to  himself ;  it  harmonized 
with  every  thing  ;  it  was  like  the  bread  to  our  dinner  ;  you 
did  not  perhaps  make  it  the  whole,  or  principal  part,  of  your 
meal5but  it  was  an  admirable  and  wholesome  auxiliary  to  your 
other  viands.  Soame  Jenyns  told  you  no  long  stories,  en- 
grossed not  much  of  your  attention,  and  was  not  angry  with 
those  that  did  ;  his  thoughts  were  original,  and  were  apt  \o 
have  a  very  whimsical  affinity  to  the  paradox  in  them  :  he 
wrote  verses  upon  dancing,  and  prose  upon  the  origin  of 
evil,  yet  he  was  a  very  indifferent  metaphysician  and  a  worse 
dancer ;  ill  nature  and  personality,  with  the  single  exception 
of  his  lines  upon  Johnson,!  never  heard  fall  from  his  lips;  those 
lines  I  have  forgotten,  though  I  believe  I  was  the  first  per- 
son to  whom  he  recited  them  ;  they  were  very  bad,  but  he 
had  been  told  that  Johnson  ridiculed  his  metaphysics,  and 
some  of  us  had  just  then  been  making  extemporary  epitaphs 
upon  each  other  :  though  his  wit  was  harmless,  yet  the  gen- 
eral cast  of  it  was  ironical  ;  there  was  a  terseness  in  his  re- 
partees, that  had  a  play  of  words  as  well  as  of  thought,  as 
when  speaking  of  the  difference  between  laying  out  mon^y 
upon  land,  or  purchasing  into  the  funds,  he  said,  "  One  was 
"  principal  without  interest,  and  the  other  interest  without 
^^  principal."  Certain  it  is  he  had  a  brevity  of  expression, 
that  never  hung  upon  the  ear,  and  you  felt  the  point  in  the 
very  moment  that  he  made  the  push.  It  was  rather  to  be 
lamented  that  his  lady  Mrs.  Jenyns  had  so  great  a  respect 
for  his  good  sayings,  and  so  im.perfect  a  recollection  of  them, 
for  though  she  always  prefaced  her  recitals  of  them  with-— 
as  Mr,  Jenyns  says — it  was  not  ahvays  what  Mr.  Jenyns  said, 
and  never,  I  am  apt  to  think,  as  Mr.  Jenyns  said  ;  but  she 
was  an  excellent  old  lady,  and  twirled  her  fan  with  as  miuch 
mechanical  address  as  her  ingenious  husband  twirled  his 
snuff-box. 

The  brilliant  vivacity  of  Garrick  was  subject  to  be  cloud- 
ed ;  little  flying  stories  had  too  much  of  his  attention,  and 
more  of  his  credit  than  they  should  have  had  ;  and  certainly 
there  were  too  many  bcbbiers  who  had  access  to  his  ear. 
There  was  some  precaution  necessary  as  to  the  company 
you  associated  with  him  at  your  table  ;  Fitzherbert  under- 
stood that  in  general  admirably  well,  yet  he  told  me  of  a  cer- 
tain day,  when  Garrick,  who  had  perhaps  been  put  a  little 
out  of  his  way,  and  was  missing  from  the  company,  was 
found  in  the  back  yard  acting  a  turkey-cock  to  a  black  bovj 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  16^ 

>vho  was  capering  for  joy  and  continually  crying  out— 
"  Massa  Garrick,  do  so  make  me  laugh  :  I  shall  die  with 
u  laughing-*-.'*  The  story  I  have  no  doubt  is  true  ;  but  I 
rather  think  it  indicates  the  very  contrary  from  a  ruffled 
temper,  and  marks  good  humour  in  its  very  strongest  light. 
To  give  amusement  to  children,  and^  to  take  pleasure  in 
the  act,  is  such  a  symptom  of  suavity,  as  can  never  be 
mistaken. 

I  made  a  visit  with  him  by  his  own  proposal  to  Foote  at 
Parson's  Green  ;  I  have  heard  it  said  he  was  reserved  and 
uneasy  in  his  company  ;  I  never  saw  him  more  at  ease  and 
in  a  happier  flow  of  spirits  than  on  that  occasion. 

Where  a  loud-tongued  talker  was  in  company,  Edmund 
Burke  declined  all  claims  upon  attention,  and.  Samuel  John- 
son, whose  ears  were  not  quick,  seldom  lent  them  to  his 
conversation,  though  he  loved  the  man,  and  admired  his 
talents :  I  have  seen  a  dull  damping  matter  of  fact  man  quell 
the  effervescence  even  of  Foote's  unrivalled  humour. 

But  I  remember  full  well,  when  Garrick  and  1  made  him 
the  visit  above  mentioned,  poor  Foote  had  something 
v/orse  than  a  dull  man  to  struggle  with,  and  matter  of  fact 
brought  home  to  him  in  a  way,  that  for  a  time  entirely  over- 
threw his  spirits,  and  most  completely  frighted  him  from  his 
jiroiinety.  We  had  taken  him  by  surprise,  and'of  course 
were  with  him^  some  hours  before  dinner,  to  make  sure  of 
our  own  if  we  had  missed  of  his.  He  seemed  overjoyed  to 
see  us,  engaged  us  to  stay,  wajked  with  us  in  his  garden^ 
and  read  to  us  some  scenes  roughly  sketched  for  his  Maid  in 
Bath.  His  dinner  was  quite  good  enough,  and  his  wme  su- 
perlative :  Sir  Robert  Fletcher,  who  had  served  in  the  East 
Indies,  dropt  in  before  dinner  and  made  the  fourth  of  our 
piii^iy  :  When  we  had  passed  about  two  hours  in  perfect  har- 
mony and  hilarity,  Garrick  called  for  his  tea,  and  Sir  Rob- 
ert rose  to  depart :  there  was  an  unlucky  screen  in  the  room, 
that  hid  the  door,  and  behind  which  Sir  Robert  hid  himself 
for  some  purpose,  whether  natural  or  artificial  I  know  not  ; 
but  Foote,  supposing  him  gone,  instantly  began  to  play  off 
his  ri^licule  at  the  expence  of  his  departed  guest.  I  must 
confess  it  was  (in  the  cant  phrase)  a  way  that  he  had^  and  just 
now  a  Very  unlucky  way,  for  Sir  Robert  bolting  from  behind 
the  screen,  cried  out — "  I  am  not  gone,  Foote  ;  spare  me  till 
"  Lam  out  of  hearing  ;  and  now  vath  your  leave  I.  will  stay 
''  till  these  gentlemfen  depart,  and,  then  you  sha.ll  amuse 
'^  me  at  their  cost,  as  you  have  ainused  them  at  minep" 


168  MEMOIRS  OF 

A  remonstrance  of  this  sort  was  an  electric  shock,  that 
could  not  be  parried.  I^o  wit  could  furnish  an  evasion,  noj 
explanation  could  suffice  for  an  excuse.  The  offended  gen- | 
tie  man  was  to  the  full  as  angry  as  a  brave  man  ought  to  be 
with  an  unfortunate  wit,  who  possessed  very  little  of  that 
quality,  which  lie  abounded  in.  This  event,  which  deprived 
Foote  of  ail  presence  of  mind,  gave  occasion  to  Gari  ick  to 
display  his  genius  and  good  nature  in  tlieir  brightest  lUstre  : 
1  never  saw  him  in  a  more  ami-tble  light ;  the  infinite  ad- 
dress and  iagenuity,  that  he  exhibited,  in  softeninL-  the  en- 
raged guest;  and  reconciling  him  to  pass  over  an  affVoat,  as 
gross  as  could  well  be  put  upon  a  man,  were  at  once  the 
most  comic  ^lid  the  raost  complete  I  ever  witnessed.  Why 
Was  not  James  Bosweii  present  to  have  recorded  the  diclogue 
And  the  action  of  the  scene  ?  My  stu])id  head  only  carried 
away  the  effect  of  it.  It  was  as  if  Diomed  (who  being  the 
son  of  Tydeus  was  I  conclude  a  great  hero  in  a  small  com- 
pass) had  been  shielding  Thersites  from  tb.e  wrath  of  Ajax  ; 
and  so  wrathful  was  our  Ajax,  that  if  I  did  not  recollect 
there  was  a  certain  actor  at  Delhi,  who  in  the  height  of  the 
massacre  charmed  away  the  furious  passions  of  Nadir  Shaw, 
and  saved  a  remnant  of  the  city,  I  should  say  this  was  a  vic- 
tory without  a  parallel.  I  hope  Foote  was  very  grateful, 
but  when  a  man  has  been  completely  humbled,  he  is  not 
very  fond  of  recolleeting  it. 

There  was  a  gentleman  of  very-  general  notoriety  at  this 
time,  who  had  the  address  to  collect  about  him  a  considera- 
ble resort  of  men  of  v^it  and  learning  at  no  other  expence  on 
his  part  than  of  the  meat  and  drink,  which  they  consumed  ; 
for  as  he  had  no  predilection  for  reading  their  works,  he  did 
not  put  himself  to  the  charge  of  buying  them.  The  gentle- 
man himself  was  of  the  Scottish  nation  ;  in  that  nobody  could 
be  mistaken  ;  all  beyond  that  was  matter  of  conjecture,  save 
only  that  it  was  universally  understood  that  Mr.  Thomas 
Mills  was  under  the  protection  of  the  great  Lord  Mansfield. 
Having  been  Town-Major  of  Quebec,  he  took  the  title  of  a 
field-officer,  and  having  been  squire  to  a  knight  of  the  Bath 
on  the  ceremony  of  an  installation,  he  became  Sir  Thomas, 
and  a  knight  himself.  It  was  chiefly  through  my  acquaint- 
ance with  this  gentleman  that  I  became  a  member  of  a  very 
pleasant  society  (for  we  never  had  the  establishment  of  a 
club)  who  used  to  dine  together  upon  stated  days  at  the  Bri- 
tish Coffee-Hous'e,  then  kep^t  by  Mrs.  Anderson^  a  person 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  169 

of  great  respectability.  Many  of  the  members  of  this  soci- 
ety were  men  of  the  first  eminence  for  their  talents,  and  Bi 
there  was  no  exclusion  in  our  system  of  any  member's  friend 
or  friends,  our  parties  were  continually  enlivened  by  the  in- 
troduction of  new  guests  who  of  course  furnished  new  sour- 
ces  for  conversation  from  which  politics  and  party  seemed 
by  general  consent  decidedly  proscribed.  Foote,  Reynolds, 
Fitzherbert,  Goldsmith,  Garrick,  Macpherson,  Doctors  Car- 
lisle, Robinson,  Beattie,  Caleb  Whitefoord,  with  many  oth- 
ers, resorted  there  as  they  saw  fit. 

In  one  of  these  meetings  it  was  suggested  and  recom- 
mended to  me  to  take  up  the  character  of  a  North-Briton,  as 
I  had  those  of  an  Irishman  and  West-Indian.  I  observed, 
in  answer  to  this,  that  I  had  not  the  same  chance  for  success 
as  I  had  in  my  sketch  of  O'Flaherty,  fori  had  never  resided 
in  Scotland,  and  should  be  perfectly  at  a  loss  where  to  seek 
for  the  dialect  of  my  hero.  '*  How  could  that  be,"  Fitzher- 
bert observed,  "i  when  I  was  in  the  very  place  to  find  it,  (al- 
luding to  the  British  Coffee-House  and  the  company  we  wxre 
in)  "  however,"  he  added,  "  give  your  Scotchman  charac- 
''  ter,  and  take  your  chance  for  dialect.  If  you  bring  a  Ro- 
''  man  on  the  stage,  yooi  don't  make  him  speak  Latin — ." 
^'  No,  no,"  cried  Foote,  "  and  if  you  don't  make  him  wear 
''  breeches,  Garrick  will  be  much  obliged  to  you.  When  I 
"  \tas  at  Stranraer  I  went  to  the  Kirk,  where  the  Mess-John 
^'  v/as  declaiming  most  furiously  against  luxury,  and,  as 
"  heaven  shall  judge  me,  there  was  not  a  pair  of  shoes  in 
"  the  whole  congregation." 

This  turned  the  conversation  from  my  comedy  to  matters 
*  more  amusing,  but  the  suggestion  had  taken  hold  of  my 
fancy,  and  I  began  to  frame  the  character  of  Colin  Macleod 
upon  the  model  of  a  Highland  servant,  who  with  scrupulous 
integrity,  and  a  great  deal  of  nationality  about  him,  managed 
all  the  'domestic  affairs  of  Sir  Thomas  Mills's  household,  and 
being  a  great  favourite  of  every  body,  who  resorted  there, 
became  in  time,  as  it  w^ere,  one  of  the  company.  With  no 
otiier  guide  for  the  dialect  of  my  Macleod  than  what  the 
Scotch  characters  of  the  sta^e  supplied  me  with,  I  endowed 
him  with  a  good  heart,  and  sent  him  to  seek  his  fortune. 

I  was  aware  I  had  some  little  fame  at  stake,  and  bestowed 
my  utmost  care  and  attention  upon  the  writing  of  this  com- 
edy :^  I  availed  myself  of  Mr.  Garrick's  judgment  at  all  pro- 
per intervals  as  I  advarxed  towards  the  completion  of  it . 


\ro  MEMOIRS  OF 

This  I  have  acknowledged  m  the  advertisement,  and  though 
I  did  not  form  sanguine  hopes  of  its  obtaining  equal  success 
with  The  West-Indian  in  representation,  I  confess  I  flatter- 
ed myself  that  I  had  outgone  that  drama  in  point  of  compo- 
sition. When  I  found  that  Garrick  thought  of  it  as  I  did,  I 
ventured  to  avov/  my  preference  in  the  prologue.  I  have 
been  reading  it  over  with  attention,  and  so  many  years  have 
passed  since  I  wrote  it,  that  I  have  very  little  of  the  feeling 
of  the  author  when  I  speak  of  it.  I  rather  think  I  was  right  in 
giving  it  the  preference  to  the  West-Indian,  though  I  ani 
far  from  sure  I  was  unprejudiced  in  my  judgment  at  that  time. 
An  author,  who  is  conscious  that  his  new  work  will  riot  be 
equally  popular  with  his  preceding  one,  will  be  very  apt  to 
imitate  the  dealer,  who,  having  a  pair  of  horses  to  sell,  will 
bestow  all  his  praise  upon  the  worst,  and  leave  the  best  to 
recommend  himself.  I  verily  believe  if  The  Fashionable 
Lover  was  not  my  composition,  and  I  were  called  upon  to 
give  my  opinion  of  it,  (speaking  only  of  its  merits,  and  re- 
servmg  to  myself  my  opinion  of  its  faults)  I  should  be  in- 
clined to  say  it  was  a  dmma  of  a  moral,  grave  and  tender 
cast,  inasmuch  as  I  ciscovered  in  it  sentiments,  laudably  di- 
rected against  national  prejudice,  breach  of  trust,  seduction^ 
gamming,  and  the  general  dissipation  of  tliC  time  tlien  pre- 
sent. I  could  not  deny  it  a  preference  to  The  West-Indian 
in  a  moral  light,  and  perhaps,  if  I  were  in  a  very  good  hu- 
mour with  its  author,  I  might  be  tempted  to  say  that  in  point 
of  diction  it  approached  very  nearly  to  what  I  conceived  to 
be  tne  true  style  of  comedy— /oca  non  ivfra  soccum^  seria  non 
tisque  cothurnum. 

At  the  time  when  this  play  came  out,  the  demands  of  the 
staee  for  novelty  were  much  limited,  and  of  course  the  ex- 
cluded many  had  full  leisure  to  wreak  their  malice  on  the 
selected  few.  I  v*  as  silly  enough  to  be  in  earnest  and  make 
serious  appeals  agcunst  cavillers  and  slanderers  below  no- 
tice :  this  induced  my  friend  Garrick  to  call  me  the  man 
without  a  skin,  a,nd  sure  enough  I  sjiould  have  been  without 
u  skin,  if  the  newspaper  beadles  could  have  had  their  will  of 
me  for  I  constantly  stood  out  against  themx,  and  would  never 
ask  quarter.  I  have  been  long  since  convinced  of  my  folly, 
but  I  am  not  at  ail  asham.ed  of  my  principle,  for  I  always 
made  common  cause  with  m.y  contemporaries,  and  never  se- 
parated my  own  particular  interests  from  those  of  literature 
in  general,  as  will  in  part  appear  by  the  following  paragraph. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  in 

extracted  from  the  advertisement,  which  I  prefixed  to  this 
comedy  on  its  publication — "  Whether  the  reception  of  this 
"  comedy,"  I  therein  say,  "  may  be  such  as  shall  encour- 
"  age  me  to  future  eRbrts  is  of  small  consequence  to  the 
"  public,  but  if  it  should  chance  to  obtain  some  little  credit 
"  with  the  candid  part  of  mankind,  and  its  author  for  once 
'^  escape  without  those  personal  and  unworthy  aspersions, 
"  which  writers,  who  hide  their  own  names,  fling  on  them 
"  w^ho  publish  their's,  my  success,  it  may  l:e  hoped,  w^ill 
"  draw  forth  others  to  the  undertaking  with  far  superior  re- 
"  quisites  ;  and  that  there  are  numbers  under  this  descrip- 
"  tion,  whose  sensibility  keeps  them  silent,  I  am  well  per- 
"  suaded,  when  I  consider  how  general  it  is  for  men  of  the 
"  finest  parts  to  be  subject  to  the  finest  feedings  ;  and  I 
"  would  submit  whether  this  unhandsome  practice  of  abuse 
"  is  not  calculated  to  create  in  the  minds  of  men  of  genius 
"  not  only  a  disinclination  to  engage  in  dramatic  composi- 
"  tions,  but  a  languid  and  unanimated  manner  of  executing 
"  them,  &c.  S^c. — " 

'The  remark  is  jast,but  I  remember  Lord  Mansfield  on  a  cer- 
tain occasion  Scddto  me,  that  if  a  single  syllable  from  his  pen 
could  at  once  confute  an  anonymour,  defamer,  he  would  not 
gratify  him  v/ith  the  word.  This  niight  be  a  very  becoming 
rule  for  him  to  follow,  and  yet  it  might  by  no  means  apply  to 
a  man  of  my  humble  sort,  and  in  truth  there  was  a  filthy 
nest  of  vipers  at  that  time  in  league  against  every  name,  to 
which  any  degree  of  celebrity  was  attached,  and  they  kept 
their  hold  upon  the  papers  till  certain  of  their  leaders*  were 
compelled  to  fly  their  country,  some  to  save  tiieirears  and 
some  to  save  their  necks.  They  were  well  know^n,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  say  some  men,  whose  minds  should  have  been  su- 
perior to  any  terrors  they  could  holdout,  made  suit  to  them 
for  favour,  nay  even  combined  with  them  on  some  occasions, 
and  were  mean  enough  to  enroll  themselves  under  their  des- 
picable banners.  It  is  to  the  honour  of  the  present  time,  and 
infinitely  to  the  repose  of  the  present  writers  for  the  stage, 
that  all  these  dirty  doings  are  completely  done  away,  and  an 
jera  of  candour  and  human  kindness  has  succeeded  to  one, 
that  was  scandalously  the  opposite. 

At  this  time  I  did  not  know  Oliver  Goldsmith  even  by 
person  ;  I  think  our  first  meeting  chanced  to  be  at  the  Bri- 
tish CofTee-House  ;  when  we  came  together,  ^ve  were  spee- 
dily coalesced,  and  I  believe  he  forgave  me  for  all  the  little 


17-2  MEMOIRS  OF 

fume  I  had  got  by  the  success  of  the  West-Indian,  which 
had  put  him  to  some  trouble,  for  it  was  not  his  nature  to  be 
unkind,  and  I  had  soon  an  opportunity  of  convincing  him 
how  incapable  I  was  of  harbouring  resentment,  and  how  zea- 
lously I  took  my  share  in  what  concerned  his  interest  and 
reputation.  That  he  was  fantastically  and  whimsically  vain 
all  the  world  knows,  but  there  was  no  settled  and  inherent 
malice  in  his  heart.  He  was  tenacious  to  a  ridiculous  ex- 
treme of  certain  pretensions,  that  did  not,  and  by  nature 
could  not,  belong  to  him,  and  at  the  same  time  inexcusably 
careless  of  the  fame,  which  he  had  powers  to  command. 
His  table-talk  w^as,  as  Garrick  aptly  compared  it,  like  that 
of  a  parrot,  whilst  he  wrote  like  Apollo  ;  he  had  gleams  of 
eloquence,  and  at  times  a  majesty  of  thought,  but  in  general 
his  tongue  and  his  pen  had  two  very  different  styles  of  talk- 
ing. What  foibles  he  had  he  took  pains  to  conceal,  the  good 
qualities  of  his  heart  were  too  frequently  obscured  by  the 
carelessne^ss  of  his  conduct,  and  the  frivolity  of  his  manners. 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  very  good  to  him,  and  would  have- 
drilled  him  into  better  trim  and  order  for  society,  if  he 
would  have  been  amenable,  for  Reynolds  wtis  a  perfect 
gentleman,  had  good  sense,  great  propriety  with  all  the  so- 
cial attributes,  and  all  the  graces  of  hospitality,  equal  to  any 
man.  He  well  knew  how  to  appreciate  men  of  talents,  and 
how  near  akin  the  Muse  of  poetry  was  to  that  art,  of  which 
he  was  so  eminent  a  master.  Fromt  Goldsmith  he  caught 
the  subject  of  his  famous  Ugolino  ;  what  aids  he  got  from 
others,  if  he  got  any,  were  worthily  bestowxd  and  happily 
applied. 

There  is  something  in  Goldsmith's  prose,  that  to  my  ear 
is  uncommonly  sweet  and  harmonious  ;  it  is  clear,  simple, 
easy  to  be  understood  ;  we  never  want  to  read  his  period  twice 
over,  except  for  the  pleasure  it  bestows  ;  obscurity  never 
calls  us  back  to  a  repetition  of  it.  That  he  was  a  poet  there 
IS  no  doubt,  but  the  paucity  of  his  verses  does  not  allow  us  to 
rank  him  in  that  high  station,  where  his  genius  might  have 
carried  him.  There  must  be  bulk,  variety  and  grandeur  of 
design  to  constitute  a  first-rate  poet.  The  Deserted  Vil- 
lage, Traveller  and  Hermit  are  all  specimens  beautiful  as 
such,  but  they  are  only  birds  eggs  on  a  string,  and  eggs  of 
small  birds  too.  One  great  magnificent  w/zo/e  must  be  ac- 
complished before  we  can  pronounce  upon  the  maker  to  be 
the  'c  ':uoir,Tric.    Pope  himself  nevxr  earned  his  title  by  a  work 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  173 

of  any  magnitude  but  his  Homer,  and  that  beinc^  a  translation 
only  constitutes  him  an  accomplished  versifier.  Dir:tress 
drove  Goldsmith  upon  undertakings,  neither  congenial  with 
his  studies,  nor  worthy  of  his  talents.  I  remember  him, 
when  in  his  chamber  in  the  Temple,  he  shewed  me  the  be- 
ginning of  his  ^;zf??zfi:/f(/ Aa^w?^^' ;  it  was  with  a  sigh,  such  as 
genius  draws,  when  hard  necessity  diverts  it  from  its  bent  to 
drudge  for  bread,  and  talk  of  birds  and  beasts  and  creeping 
'things,  which  Pidock's  show-man  would  have  done  as  well. 
Foor  fellow,  he  hardly  knew  an  ass  from  a  mule,  nor  a  tur- 
key from  a  goose,  but  when  he  saw  it  on  the  table.  But  pub- 
lishers hate  poetry,  and  Paternoster-Row^  is  not  Parnassus. 
Even  the  mighty  Doctor  Hill,  who  v/as  not  a  very  delicate 
feeder,  could  not  make  a  dinner  out  of  the  press  till  by  a  hap- 
py transformation  into  Hannah  Glass  he  turned  himself  into  a 
cook,  and  ST>Id  receipts  for  made  dishes  to  all  the  savoury  rea- 
ders in  the  kingdom.  Then  indeed  the  press  acknowledged 
him  second  in  fame  only  to  John  Bunyan  ;  his  feasts  kept 
pace  in  sale  v/ith  Nelson's  fasts,  and  wl^en  his  own  name  was 
fairly  written  out  of  credit,  he  wrote  himself  into  immorta- 
lity under  an  alias.  Now  though  necessity,  or  I  should  ra- 
ther say  the  desire  of  finding  money  for  a  masquerade,  drove 
Oliver  Goldsmith  upon  abridging  histories  and  turning  Buf- 
foon into  English,  yet  I  much  doubt  if  without  that  spur  he 
would  ever  have  put  his  Pegasus  into  action  ;  no,  if  he  had 
i^een  rich,  the  world  would  have  been  poorer  than  it  is  by  the 
loss  ofall  the  treasures  of  his  genius  and  the  contributions  of 
his  pen. 

Who  will  say  that  Johnson  himself  would  have  been  such 
a  cham.pion  in  literature,such  a  front-rank  soldier  in  the  fields 
of  fame,  if  he  had  not  been  pressed  into  the  service,  and  dri- 
ven on  to  glory  with  the  bayonet  of  snarp  necessity  pointed 
at  his  back  ?  If  fortune  had  turned  him  into  a  field  of  clover, 
he  would  have  laid  down  and  rolled  in  it.  The  mere  ma- 
nuel  labour  of  writing  would  not  have  allowed  his  lassitude 
and  love  of  ease  to  have  taken  the  pen  out  of  the  inkhorn,  un- 
less the  cravings  of  liunger  had  remhiied  him  that  he  must 
fill  the  sheet  before  he  saw  the  tablecloth.  He  might  in- 
deed have  knocked  dovfn  Osbourne  for  a  blockliead,  but  he 
would  not  have  knocked  him  down  with  a  folio  of  his  own 
writing.  He  would  perha]>s  have  been  the  dictator  of  a 
club,  and  wherever  he  sate  down  to  conversation,  there  rniisc 
have  been  that  splash  of  strong  bold  thought  aJbout  him« 
p   3 


174  MEMOIRS  OF 

that  we  might  still  have  had  a  collectanea  after  his  death ; 
but  of  prose  I  guess  not  much,  of  works  of  labour  none, 
of  fancy  pei-haps  something  more,  especially  of  poetry, 
which  under  favour  I  conceive  was  not  his  tower  of  strength. 
I  think  we  should  have  had  his  Rasselas  at  all  events, 
for  he  was  likely  enough  to  have  written  at  Voltaire,  and 
brought  the  question  to  the  test,  if  infidelity  is  any  aid  to  wit. 
An  orator  he  must  have  been  ;  not  improbably  a  parliament- 
arian, and,  if  such,  certainly  an  oppositionist,  for  he  prefer- 
red to  talk  against  the  tide.  He  would  indubitably  have  been 
no  member  of  the  Whig  Club,  no  partisan  of  Wilkes,  no 
friend  of  Hume,  no  believer  in  Macpherson  ;  he  would  have 
put  up  prayers  for  early  rising,  and  laid  in  bed  all  day,  and 
with  the  most  active  resolutions  possible  been  the  most  in- 
dolent mortal  living.  He  was  a  good  man  by  nature,  a  great 
man  by  genius,  we  are  now  to  enquire  what  he  was  by  com- 
pulsion. 

Johnson's  first  style  was  naturally  energetic,  his  middle 
style  was  turgid  to  a  fault,  his  latter  style  was  softened  down 
and  harmonized  into  periods,  more  tuneful  and  more  intelli- 
gible. His  execution  was  rapid,  yet  his  mind  was  not  easily 
provoked  into  exertion  ;  the  variety  vfe  find  in  his  writings 
was  not  the  variety  of  choice  arising  from  the  impulse  of  his 
proper  genius,  but  tasks  imposed  upon  him  by  the  dealers  in 
ink,  and  contracts  on  his  part  submitted  to  in  satisfaction  of 
the  pressing  calls  of  hungry  want ;  for,  painful  as  it  is  to,  re- 
late, I  have  heard  that  illustrious  scholar  assert  (and  he  ne- 
ver varied  from  the  truth  of  fact)  that  he  subsisted  himself 
for  a  considerable  space  of  time  upon  the  scanty  pittance  of 
four-pence  half-penny  per  day.  How  melancholy  to  reflect 
that  his  vast  trunk  and  stimulating  appetite  were  to  be  sup- 
ported by  what  v/ill  barely  feed  the  weaned  infant !  Less, 
much  less,  than  Master  Betty  has  earned  in  one  night,  would 
have  cheered  the  mighty  mind,  and  maintained  the  athletic 
body  of  Samuel  Johnson  in  comfort  and  abundance  for  a 
twelvemonth  Alas  !  I  am  not  fit  to  paint  his  chai^acter ;  nor 
is  there  need  of  it ;  Etiain  mortuus  loquitur  :  every  man  who 
can  buy  a  book,  has  bought  a  Bosnvell ;  Johnson  is  known  to 
all  the  reading  world.  I  also  knew  him  well,  respected  him 
highly,  loved  him  sincerely  :  it  was  never  my  chance  to  see 
him  in  those  moments  of  moroseness  and  ill  humour,  which 
are  imppted  to  him,  perhaps  with  truth,  for  v/ho  would  slan- 
der him  I  But  I  am  not  warranted  by  any  experience  of  those 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  175 

humours  to  speak  of  him  otherwise  than  of  a  friend,  who  al- 
ways met  me  with  kindness.,  and  from  wliom  I  never  sepe- 
rated  without  regret.  When  I  sought  his  company  he  had 
no  capricious  exci\ses  for  withholding  it,  but  lent  himself  to 
every  invitation  with  corcliahty",  and  brought  good  humour 
with  him,  that  gave  Ufe  to  the  circle  he  was  in.  He  presented 
himsftlf  always  in  his  fashion  of  apparel ;  a  brown  coat  with 
metal  buttons,  black  waistcoat  and  worsted  stockings,  with  a 
flowing  bob  wig  was  the  style  of  his  wardrobe,  but  they  were 
in  perfectly  good  trim,  and  with  the  ladies,  Avhich  he  gene- 
rally met,  he  had  nothing  of  the  slovenly  philosopher  about 
him  ;  he  fed  heartily,  but  not  voraciously,  and  was  extreme- 
ly courteous  in  his  commendations  of  any  dish,  that  pleased 
his  palate  ;  he  suffered  hj  >  next  neighbour  to  squeeze  the 
China  oranges  into  his  wine  glass  after  dinner,  which 
else  perchance  had  gone  aside,  and  trickled  into  his  shoes, 
for  the  good  man  had  neither  straight  sight  nor  steady 
nerves. 

At  the  tea  table  he  had  considerable  demands  upon  his  fa- 
vourite beverage,  and  I  remember  when  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
at  my  house  reminded  him  that  he  had  drank  eleven  cups, 
he  replied — "  Sir,  I  did  not  count  your  glasses  of  wine,  why 
"  should  you  number  up  my  cups  of  tea  ?"  And  then  laugh-, 
ing  in  perfect  good  humour  he  added — ''  Sir,  I  should  have 
"  released  the  lady  from  any  further  trouble,  if  it  had  not 
"  been  for  your  remark  ;  but  you  have  reminded  me  that  I 
"  want  one  of  the  dozen,  and  I  must  request  Mrs.  Cumber- 
"  land  to  round  up  my  number — "  When  he  saw  the  readi- 
ness and  complacency,  with  which  my  wife  obejed  his  call, 
he  turned  a  kind  of  cheerful  look  upon  her  and  said — -"  Ma- 
"  dam,  I  must  tell  you  for  your  comfort,  you  have  escaped 
"  much  better  than  a  certain  lady  did  awhile  ago,  upon  whose 
^'  patience  I  intruded  greatly  more  than  I  have  done  on 
"  yours  ;  but  the  lady  asked  me  for  no  other  purpose  but  to 
"  make  a  Zany  of  me,  and  set  me  gabbling  to  a  parcel  of 
"  people  I  knew  nothing  of;  so,  madam,  I  had  my  revenge 
"  of  her  ;  for  I  swallowed  five  and  twenty  cups  of  her  tea, 
"  and  did  not  treat  her  with  as  many  words — "  I  can  only  say 
my  wife  would  have  made  tea  for  him  as  long  as  the  New- 
River  could  have  supplied  her  with  w^ater. 

It  was  on  such  occasions  he  was  to  be  S9en  in  his  happiest 
moments,  when  animated  by  the  cheering  attention  of  friends 
vfhom  he  liked,  he  would  give  full  scope  to  those  talents  for 


176  MEMOIRS  OF 


I 


narration,  in  which  I  verily  think  he  was  unrivalled  both  in 
the  brilliancy  of  his  wit,  the  flow  of  his  humour  and  the 
energy  of  his  language.  Anecdotes  of  time  past,  scenes  of 
his  own  life,  and  characters  of  humourists,  enthusiasts,  crack- 
brained  projectors  and  a  variety  of  strange  beings,  that  he  had 
chanced  upon,  when  detailed  by  him  at  length,  and  garnished 
with  those  episodical  remarks,  sometimes  comic,  sometimes 
grave,  which  he  would  throw  in  with  infinite  fertility  of  fancy, 
were  a  treat,  which  tho'  not  always  to  be  purchased  by  five  and 
twenty  cups  of  tea,  I  have^ften  had  the  happiness  to  enjoy 
for  less  than  half  the  number.  He  was  easily  led  into  topics  ; 
it  was  not  easy  to  turn  him  from  them  ;  but  who  would  wish 
it  ?  If  a  man  wanted  to  shew  himself  off  by  getting  up  and 
riding  upon  him,  he  was  sure  to  run  restive  and  kick  him 
off:  you  might  as  safely  have  backed  Bucephalus,  before 
Alexander  had  lunged  him.  Neither  did  he  alv/ays  like  to 
be  over-fondled  ;  when  a  certain  gentleman  out-acted  his  pait 
in  this  way,  he  is  said  to  have  demanded  of  him- — "  What 
"  provokes  your  risibility.  Sir?  Have  I  said  any  thing  that 
"  you  understand  ? — Then  I  ask  pardon  of  the  rest  of  the 
"  company — "  But  this  is  Henderson's  anecdote  of  him.,  and 
I  won't  swear  he  did  not  make  it  him.self.  The  following 
apology  however  I  myself  drew  from  him,  when  speaking  of 
his  tour  I  observed  to  him  upon  some  passages  as  rather  too 
sharp  upon  a  country  and  people,  who  had  entertained  him 
so  handsomely—''  Do  you  think  so,  Cumbey  r"  he  replied. 
"  Then  I  give  you  leave  to  say,  and  you  may  quote  me  for 
"  it,  that  there  are  more  gentlemen  in  Scotland  than  there 
*'  are  shoes. — " 

But  I  don't  relish  these  sayings,  and  I  am  to  blame  for  re- 
tailing them  ;  we  can  no  more  judge  of  men  by  these  drop- 
pings from  their  lips,  than  we  can  guess  at  the  contents  of  the 
river  Nile  by  a  pitcher  of  its  water.  If  we  were  to  estimate  the 
wise  men  of  Greece  by  Laertius's  scraps  of  their  sayings, 
what  a  parcel  of  old  women  should  we  account  them  to  have 
been  1 

The  expanse  of  matter  v/hich  Johnson  had  found  room  fcr 
in  his  intellectual  storehouse,  the  correctness  with  wnich  he 
had  assorted  it,  and  the  readiness  with  which  he  could  turn 
to  any  article  that  he  wanted  to  make  present  use  of,  were 
the  properties  in  kim,  which  I  contempiatcd  with  the  most 
admiration.  Soaie  have  called  him  a  savage;  they  were 
only  so  far  right  in  the  resemblance,  as  that,  like  the  savage^ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  177 

he  never  came  into  suspicious  company  without  his  spear  in 
his  hand  and  his  bow  and  quiver  at  his  back.  In  quickness  of 
intellect  few  ever  equalled  him,  in  profundity  of  erudition  ma- 
ny have  surpassed  him.  I  do  not  think  lie  had  a  pure  and  clas- 
sical taste,  nor  was  apt  to  be  best  pleased  with  the  best  au- 
thors, but  as  a  general  scholar  he  ranks  very  high.  When 
I  would  have  consulted  him  upon  certain  points  of  literature, 
whilst  I  was  making  my  collections  from  the  Greek  drama- 
tists for  my  essays  in  The  Observer,  he  candidly  acknow- 
ledged that  his  studies  had  not  lain  amongst  them,  and  cer- 
tain it  is  there  is  very  little  show  of  literature' in  his  Ramb- 
lers, and  in  the  passage,  v/here  he  quotes  Aristotle,  he  has 
not  correctly  given  the  meaning  of  the  original.  But  this  was 
merely  the  result  of  haste  andinattention,neitheris  he  so  to  be 
measured,  for  he  had  so  many  parts  and  properties  of  scho- 
larship about  him,  that  you  can  only  fairly  review  him  as  a 
man  of  general  knowledge.  As  a  poet  his  translations  of 
Juvenal  gave  him  a  name  in  the  world,  and  gained  him  the 
applause  of  Pope.  He  was  a  writer  of  tragedy,  but  his  Irene 
gives  him  no  conspicuous  rank  in  that  department.  As  an 
essayist  he  merits  more  consideration  ;  his  Ramblers  are  in 
every  body's  hands  ;  about  them  opinions  vary,  and  I  rather 
believe  the  style  of  these  essays  is  not  now  considered  as  a 
good  model  ;  this  he  corrected  in  his  moi'e  advanced  age, 
as  may  be  seen  in  his  Lives  of  the  Poets,  where  his  diction, 
though  occasionally  elaborate  and  highly  metaphorical,  is 
not  nearly  so  inflated  and  ponderous,  as  in  the  Ramblers. 
He  was  an  acute  and  able  critic  ;  the  enthusiastic  admirers 
of  Milton  and  the  friends  of  Gray  will  have  something  to 
complain  of,  but  criticism  is  a  task,  which  no  man  executes 
to  all  men's  satisfaction.  His  selection  of  a  certain  passage 
in  the  Mournuig  Bride  of  Congreve,  which  he  extols  sc  rap- 
turously, is  certainly  a  most  unfortunate  sample  ;  but  unless 
the  oversights  of  a  critic  are  less  pardonable  than  those  of 
other  men,  we  may  pass  this  over  in  a  work  of  merit,  which 
abounds  in  beauties  far  more  prominent  than  its  defects,  and 
much  more  pleasing  to  contemplate.  In  works  professedly 
of  fancy  he  is  not  very  copious  ;  yet  in  his  Rasselas  we  have 
much  to  admire,  and  enough  to  make  us  wish  for  more.  It 
is  the  work  of  an  illuminated  mind,  and  offers  many  wise  and 
deep  reflections,  clothed  in  beautiful  and  harmonious  dic- 
tion. We  are  not  indeed  familiar  with  such  personages  as 
Johnson  has  imagined  for  the  characters  of  his  fable,  but  if 


178  MEMOIRS  OF 

we  are  not  exceedingly  interested  in  their  story,  we  are  in- 
finitely gratified  with  their  conversation  and  remarks,  lii 
conclusion,  Johnson's  sera  was  not  wanting  in  men  to  be  dis- 
tinguished for  their  talents,  yet  if  one  was  to  be  selected  out 
as  the  first  great  literary  character  of  the  time,  I  believe  all 
voices  would  concur  in  naming  him.  Let  me  here  inserti 
the  following  lines,  descriptive  of  his  character,  though^ 
not  long  since  written  by  me  and  to  be  found  in  a  public 

print 

^'   On  Samuel  Jo/mso7i, 
"  Herculean  strength  and  a  Stentorian  voice, 
"  Of  wit  a  fund,  of  words  a  countless  choice  : 
'*  In  learning  rather  various  than  profound, 
"  In  truth  intrepid,  in  religion  sound : 
*'  A  trembling  form  and  a  distorted  sight, 
**  But  firm  in  judgment  and  in  genius  bright ; 
"  In  controversy  seldom  kno'vm  to  spare , 
^'  But  humble  as  the  Publican  in  prayer  ; 
"  To  more  than  merited  his  kindness  kind, 
"  And,  though  in  manners  harsh,  of  friendly  mind  ; 
*'  Deep  ting'd  with  melancholy's  blackest  shade, 
"  And,  though  prepar'd  to  die,  of  death  afraid— 
"  Such  Johnson  was  ;  of  him  with  justice  vain, 
"  When  win  this  nation  see  his  like  again  ?" 
Oliver  Goldsmith  began  at  this  time  to  write  for  the  stage, 
and  it  is  to  be  lamented  that  he  did  not  begin  at  an  earlier 
period  of  life  to  turn  his  genius  to  dramatic  compositions, 
and  much  more  to  be  lr/>nented,  that,  after  he  had  begun, 
the  succeeding  period  of  his  life  was  so  soon  cut  off.    There 
is  no  doubt  but  his  genius,  when  more  familiarized  to  the 
business,    would   have  inspired  him  to  accomplish   great 
thing's.     His  first  comedy  of  27;^?  Good-natured  Man  was 
read  and  applauded  in  its  manuscript  by  Edmund  Burke, 
and  the  circle  in  which  he  then  lived  and  moved :  under  such 
patronage  it  came  with  those  testimonials  to  the  director  of 
Covent  Garden  theatre,  as  could  not  fail  to  open  all  the  ave 
nues  to  the  stage,  and  bespeak  all  the  favour  and  attention 
from  the  performers  and  the  public,  that  tlie  applauding-^ 
voice  of  him,  whose  applause  was  fame  itself,  could  give  it. 
This  comedy  has  enough  to  justify  the  good  opinion  of  its, 
literary  patron,  and  secure  its  author  against  any  loss  of  re-i 
putation,  for  it  has  the  stamp  of  a  man  of  talents  upon  it,^ 
though  its  popularity  with  the  audience  did  not  quite  keep 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  179 

pace  -with  the  expectations,  that  were  grounded  on  the  fiat 
it  had  antecedently  been  honoured  with.  It  was  a  first  effort 
however,  and  did  not  discourage  its  ingenious  author  from 
invoking  the  Muse  a  second  time.  It  was  now,  whilst  his 
hxbours  were  in  projection,  that  I  first  met  him  at  the  British 
Coffee-House,  as  I  have  ah^eady  related  somewhat  out  of 
place.  He  dined  with  us  as  a  visitor,  introduced  as  I  think 
by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  we  held  a  consultation  upon 
the  naming  of  his  comedy,  which  some  of  the  company  had 
read,  and  which  he  detailed  to  the  rest  after  his  manner  with 
a  great  deal  of  good  humour.  Somebody  suggested — She 
Scoo/is  to  Conquer — and  that  title  was  agreed  upon.  When 
I  perceived  an  embarrassment  in  his  manner  towards  me, 
which  I  could  readily  account  for,  I  lost  no  time  to  put  him 
at  his  ease,  and  I  flatter  myself  I  was  successful.  As  my 
heart  was  ever  warm  towards  my  contemporaries,  I  did  not 
counterfeit,  but  really  felt  a  cordial  interest  in  his  behalf, 
and  I  had  soon  the  pleasure  to  perceive  that  he  credited  me 
for  my  sincerity—''  You  and  I,"  said  he,  "  have  very  differ- 
"  ent  motives  for  resorting  to  the  stage.  I  write  for  mo- 
ney, and  care  little  about  fame — ."  I  was  touched  by  this 
melanch:oly  confession,  and  from  that  moment  busied  my- 
self assiduously  amongst  all  my  connexions  in  his  cause. 
The  whxoie  company  pledged  themselves  to  the  support  of 
the  ingenious  poet,  and  faithfully  kept  their  promise  to  him. 
In  fact  he  needed  all  that  could  be  done  for  him,  as  Mr. 
Colman,  then  manager  of  Covent  Garden  tlieatre,  protested 
against  the  comedy,  when  as  yet  he  had  not  struck  upon  a 
name  for  it.  Johnson  at  length  stood  forth  in  all  his  terrors 
as  clrampion  for  tue  piece,  and  backed  up  by  us  his  clients  and 
retainers  demanded  a  fair  trial.  Colman  again  protested,  but, 
with  that  salvo  for  his  own  reputation,  liberally  lent  his  stage 
to  one  of  the  most  eccentric  productions,  that  ever  found 
its  way  to  it,  and  She  Stoojis  to  Conquer  was  put  into  re- 
hearsal. 

We  were  not  over-sanguine  of  success,  but  perfectly  de- 
termined to  struggle  hard  for  our  author :  we  accordingly 
assembled  our  streagth  at  the  Siiakspeare  Tavern  in  a  con- 
siderable body  for  an  early  dinner,  where  Samuel  Johnson 
took  the  chair  at  tiie  head  of  a  long  tabic,  and  was  the  life 
and  soul  of  the  corps :  the  poet  took  post  silently  by  his  side 
with  the  Burkes,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Fitzherbert,  Caleb 
Whitefoord  and  a  phalanx  of  North-British  pre -determined 


180  MEMOIRS  OF 

applauders,  under  the  banner  of  Major  Mills,  all  good  men 
and  true.  Our  illustrious  president  was  in  inimitable  glee, 
and  poor  Goldsmith  that  day  took  all  his  raillery  as  patiently 
and  complacently  as  my  friend  Boswell  would  have  done 
any  day,  or  every  day  of  his  life.  In  the  mean  time  w^e  did 
not  forget  our  duty,  and  though  we  had  a  better  comedy  go- 
ing on,  in  which  Johnson  was  chief  actor,  we  betook  ourselves 
in  good  time  to  our  separate  and  allotted  posts,  and  waited 
the  awful  drawing  up  of  the  curtain.  As  our  stations  were 
pre-concerted,  so  w^ere  our  signals  for  plaudits  arranged 
and  determined  upon  in  a  manner,  that  gave  every  one  his 
cue  where  to  look  for  them,  and  how  to  follow  them  up. 

We  had  amongst  us  a  very  worthy  and  efficient  member, 
long  since  lost  to  his  friends  and  the  world  at  large,  Adam 
Drummond,  of  amiable  memorv,  who  was  gifted  by  nature 
with  the  most  sonorous,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  con- 
tagious, laugh,  that  ever  echoed  from  the  human  mngs. 
The  neighing  of  the  horse  of  the  son  of  Hystaspes  was  a 
whisper  to  it ;  the  whole  thunder  of  the  theatre  could  not 
drown  it.  This  kind  and  ingenious  friend  fdrly  fore-warned 
us  that  he  knew  np  more  when  to  give  his  fire  than  the  can- 
non did  tliat  was  planted  on  a  battery.  He  desired  therefore 
to  have  a  flapper  at  his  elbow,  and  I  had  the  honour  to  be  de- 
puted to  that  office.  I  planted  him  in  an  upper  box,  pretty 
nearly  over  the  stage,  in  full  view  of  the  pit  and  galleries, 
and  perfectly  well  situated  to  give  the  echo  all  its  play 
through  the  hollows  and  recesses  of  the  theatre.  The  suc- 
cess of  our  manoeuvres  was  complete.  All  eyes  were  upo: 
Johnson,  who  sate  in  the  front  row  of  a  side  box,  and  whe: 
he  laughed  every  body  thought  themselves  w^arranted 
roar.  In  the  mean  time  my  friend  foiiowed  signals  with 
rattle  so  irresistibly  comic,  that,  when  he  had  repeated 
several  times,  the  attention  of  the  spectators  w^as  so  engrosi 
ed  by  his  person  and  performances,  that  the  progress  of  thi 
play  seemed  likely  to  become  a  secondary  object,  and  I  founi 
it  prudent  to  insinuate  to  him  that  he  might  halt  his  music 
without  any  prejudice  to  the  author ;  but  alas,  it  wiis  now 
too  late  to  rein  him  in  ;  he  had  laughed  upon  my  signal 
where  he  found  no  joke,  and  now  unluckily  he  fancied  that 
he  found  a  joke  in  almost  every  thing  that  was  said  ;  so  that 
nothing  in  nature  could  be  more  mal-a-propos  than  some  of 
his  bursts  every  now  and  then  were.  Tlicse  were  dangerous 
inomentSj  for  the  pit  began  to  take  umbrage  ;  but  we  carried 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  181 

our  play  through,  and  triumphed  not  only  over  Colman's 
judgment,  but  our  own. 

As  the  life  of  poor  Oliver  Goldsmith  was  now  fast  ap- 
proaching to  its  period,  I  conclude  my  account  of  him  with 
gratitude  for  the  epitaph  he  bestowed  on  me  in  his  poem 
called  Retaliation,  It  was  upon  a  proposal  started  by  Ed- 
mund Burke,  that  a  party  of  friends  who  had  dined  together 
at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  and  my  house,  should  meet  at  the 
St.  James's  Coffee-House,  which  accordingly  took  place,  and 
was  occasionally  repeated  with  much  festivity  and  good  fel- 
lowship. Dr.  Bernard,  Dean  of  Derry,  a  very  amiable  and 
old  friend  of  mine,  Dr.  Douglas,  since  Bishop  of  Salisbury, 
Johnson,  David  Garrick,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Oliver  Gold- 
smith, Edmund  and  Richard  Burke,  Hickey,  with  two  or 
three  others  constituted  our  party.  At  one  of  these  meet- 
ings an  idea  was  suggested  of  extemporary  epitaphs  upon  the 
parties  present ;  pen  and  ink  were  called  for,  and  Gariick 
off*  hand  wrote  an  epitaph  with  a  good  deal  of  humour  upon 
poor  Goldsmith,  who  was  the  first  in  jest,  as  he  proved  to  be 
in  reality,  that  we  committed  to  the  grave.  The  dean  also 
gave  him  an  epitaph,  and  sir  Joshua  illuminated  the  dean's 
verses  with  a  sketch  of  his  bust  in  pen  and  ink,  inimitably  ca.- 
ricatured.  Neither  Johnson  nor  Burke  wrote  any  thing, 
and  when  I  perceived  Oliver  was  rather  sore,  and  seemed 
to  watch  me  v/ith  that  kind  of  attention,  w^iich  indicated  his 
expectation  of  something  in  the  same  kind  of  burlesque  with 
their's.  I  thought  it  time  to  press  the  joke  no  further,  and 
wrote  a  few  couplets  at  a  side-table,  which  when  I  had  finish- 
ed and  v/as  called  upon  by  the  company  to  exhibit,  Gold- 
smith with  much  agitation  besought  me  to  spare  him,  and  I 
was  about  to  tear  them,  when  Johnson  wrested  thera  out  of 
my  hand,  and  in  a  loud  voice  read  them  at  the  table.  I  have 
now  lost  all  recollection  of  them,  and  in  fact  they  were  little 
worth  remembering,  but  as  they  were  serious  and  compli- 
mentary, the  effect  they  had  upon  Goldsmith  was  the  more 
pleasing  for  being  so  entirely  unexpected.  The  concluding 
line,  which  is  the  only  one  I  can  call  to  mind,  was — 

"  All  mourn  the  poet,  I  lament  the  man—." 

This  I  recollect,  because  he  repeated  it  several  times,  and 
seemed  much  gratified  by  it.  At  our  next  meeting  he  pro- 
duced his  epitaphs  as  they  stand  in  the  little  posthumous  po- 


182  MEMOIRS  OF 


em  above-mentioned,  and  this  was  the  last  time  he  ever  en- 
jcycd  the  company  of  his  friends. 

As  he  had  served  up  the  company  under  the  similitude  of 
various  sorts  of  meat,  I  had  in  the  mean  time  figured  them 
under  that  of  liquors,  which  little  poem  I  rather  think  was 
printed,  but  of  this  I  am  not  sure.  Goldsmith  sickened  and 
died,  and  we  had  one  concluding  meeting  at  my  house,  when 
it  was  decided  to  publish  his  Retaliation,  and  Johnson  at  the 
same  time  undertook  to  write  an  epitaph  for  our  lamented 
friend,  to  whom  we  proposed  to  erect  a  monument  by  sub- 
scription in  Westminster-Abbey.  This  epitaph  Johnson  ex- 
ecuted ;  but  in  the  criticism,  that  was  attempted  against  it, 
and  in  the  Round-Robin  signed  at  Mr.  Beauclerc's  house  I 
had  no  part.  I  had  no  acquaintance  with  that  gentlemati,  and 
w^as  never  in  his  house  in  my  life. 

Thus  died  Oliver  Goldsmith  in  his  chambers  in  the  Tem- 
ple at  a  period  of  life,  when  his  genius  was  yet  in  its  vigour, 
and  fortune  seemed  disposed  to  smile  upon  him.  I  have  heard 
Dr.  Johnson  relate  with  infinite  humour  the  circumstance  of 
his  rescuing  him  from  a  ridiculous  dilemma  by  the  purchase 
money  of  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  which  he  sold  on  his  behalf 
to  Dodsley,  and,  as  I  think,  for  the  sum  of  ten  pounds  only. 
He  had  run  up  a  debt  with  his  landlady  for  boarding  and  lodg- 
ing of  some  few  pounds,  and  was  at  his  wit's  end  how  to  wipe 
off  the  score  and  keep  a  roof  over  his  head,  except  by  closing 
with  a  very  staggering  proposal  on  her  part,  and  taking  his 
creditor  to  wife,  whose  charms  were  very  far  from  alluring, 
v/hiist  her  demands  were  extremely  urgent.  In  this  crisis 
of  his  fate  he  was  found  by  Johnson  in  the  act  of  meditating 
on  the  melancholy  alternative  before  him.  He  shewed  John- 
son his  manuscript  of  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  but  seemed 
to  be  without  any  plan,  or  even  hope,  of  raising  money  upon 
the  disposal  of  it ;  when  Johnson  cast  his  eye  upon  it,  be  dis- 
covered something  that  gave  him  hope,  and  immediately 
took  it  to  Dodsley,  who  paid  down  the  price  above-mentioned 
in  ready  money,  and  added  an  eventual  condition  upon  its 
future  sale.  Johnson  descrij^ed  the  precautions  he  took  in 
concealing  the  amount  of  the  sum  he  had  in  hand,  which  he 
prudently  administered  to  him  by  a  guinea  a.t  atime.  In  the 
event  he  paid  off  the  landlady's  score,  and  redeemed  the  per- 
son of  his  friend  from  her  embraces.  Goldsmith  had  the  joy 
of  finding  his  ingenious  work  succeed  beyond  his  hopes,  and 
from  that  time  began  to  place  a  confidence  in  the  resources  o^^ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  183 

his  talents,  which  thenceforward  enabled  him  to  keep  his 
station  in  society,  and  cultivate  the  friendship  of  many  emi- 
nent persons,  who,  whilst  they  smiled  at  his  eccentricities, 
esteemed  him  for  his  genius  and  good  qualities. 

My  father  had  hten  translated  to  the  see  of  Kilmore, 
which  placed  him  in  a  more  civilized  country,  and  lodged 
liimin  a  more  comfortable  house.  I  continued  my  yearly 
visits,  and  again  went'over  to  IrelaJid  with  ptut  of  my  family, 
and  passed  my  whole  stimmer  recess  at  Kilmore.  i  liad 
with  unspeakable  regret  pexceived  some  symptoms  of  an 
alarming  nature  about  him,  which  seemed  to  indicate  the 
breaking  up  of  a  most  excellent  constitution,  which,  nursed 
by  temperance  and  regularity,  had  hitherto  been  blest  with 
such  an  uninterrupted  course  of  health,  that  he  had  never 
through  his  whole  life  been  confined  a  single  day  to  his  bed, 
except  when  he  had  the  small  pox  in  his  childhood.  In  all 
his  appetites  and  passions  he  was  the  most  moderate  of  men  « 
ever  cheerful  in  nis  family  and  with  his  friends,  but  never 
yielding  to  the  slightest  excess.  My  mother  in  the  mean 
time  had  been  gradually  sinking  into  a  state  of  extreme  de- 
bility and  loss  of  health,  and  I  plainly  saw  that  my  father's 
ceaseless  agitation  and  anxiety  on  her  account  had  deeply 
affected  his  constitution.  He  had  flattered  me  with  the 
hope  that  he  would  attempt  a  journey  to  England  with  her, 
and  in  that  expectation,  when  my  time  was  expired,  1  pain- 
fully took  leave  of  him-~«and,  alas  !  never  saw  him,  or  my 
mother,  more 

In  the  winter  of  that  same  year,  whilst  I  was  at  Bath  by  ad- 
vice for  my  own  health,  I  received  the  first  afflicting  intelli- 
gence of  his  death  from  Primate  Robinson,  who  loved  him 
truly  and  lamented  him  most  sincerely.  This  sad  event  was 
speedily  succeeded  by  the  death  of  my  mother,  whose  vreak 
and  exhausted  frame  sunk  under  the  blow  :  those  senses  so 
acute,  and  that  mind  so  richly  endowed,  v/ere  in  an  instant 
taken  from  her,  and  after  languishing  in  that  melancholy 
state  for  a  short  but  distressful  period,  she  followed  him  to 
the  grave. 

Thus  was  I  bereft  of  father  and  mother  without  the  consc- 
lation  of  having  paid  them  the  last  mournful  duties  of  a  son. 
One  surviving  sister,  the  best  and  most  benevolent  of  hu- 
man beings,  attended  them  in  their  last  moments,  and  per- 
formed those  duties,  which  my  hard  fortune  would  not  suffer 
»ie  to  share. 


184  MEMOIRS  OF 

In  a  small  patch  of  ground,  enclosed  with  stone  walls,  ad- 
joining to  the  church-yard  of  Kilniore,  but  not  within  the 
pale  of  the  consecrated  ground,  my  father's  corpse  was  in- 
terred beside  the  grave  of  the  venerable  and  exemplary  Bi- 
shop Bedel.  This  little  spot,  as  containing  the  remains  of 
that  good  and  great  man,  my  father  had  fenced  and  guarded 
with  particular  devotion,  and  he  had  more  than  once  pointed 
it  out  to  me  as  his  destined  grave,  saying  to  m.e,  as  I  well 
remember,  in  the  words  of  the  Old  prophet  of  Bethel, 
^'  When  I  am  dead,  then  bury  me  in  this  sepulchre,  where- 
"  in  the  man  of  God  is  buried  ;  lay  my  bones  beside  his 
<^  bones — .''  This  injunction  was  exactly  fulfilled,  and  the 
Protestant  Bishop  of  Kilmore,  the  mild  friend  of  mankind^ 
the  impartial  benefactor  and  unprejudiced  protector  of  his 
Catholic  poor,  who  almost  adored  him  whilst  living,  w^as  not 
permitted  to  deposit  his  remains  within  the  precincts  of  his 
own  church-yard,  though  they  howled  over  his  grave,  and 
rent  the  air  with  their  savage  lamentations. 

Thus,  whilst  their  carcases  monopolise  the  consecrat- 
ed ground,  his  bones  and  the  bones  of  Bedel  made  sacred  the 
unblest  soil,  in  which  they  moulder ;  but  whilst  I  believe 
and  am  persuaded,  that  his  incorruptible  is  received  into  bliss 
eternal,  what  concerns  it  me  where  his  corruptible  is  laid  ? 
The  corpse  of  my  lamented  lYiother,  the  instructress  of 
my  youth,  the  friend  and  charm  of  my  maturer  years,  is  de- 
posited by  his  side. 

My  father's  patronage  at  Kilmore  was  very  considerable, 
and  this  he  stiictly  bestowed  upon  the  clergy  of  his  diocese, 
promoting  the  curates  to  the  smaller  livings,  as  vacancies 
occurred,  and  exacting  from  every  man,  whom  he  put  into 
a  living,  where  there  was  no  parsonage-house,  a  solemn 
promise  to  build  ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  no  single  in- 
stance was  that  promise  fulfilled ;  which  breach  of  faith 
gave  him  great  concern,  and  in  the  cases  of  some  particular 
friends,  whom  he  had  promoted  in  full  persuasion  of  their 
keeping  faith  with  him,  afflicted  him  very  sensibly,  as  I  had 
occasion  to  know  and  lament.  The  opportunities  be  had  of 
benefiting  his  fortune  and  family  by  fines,  and  the  lapse  of 
leases,  which  might  have  been  considerable,  he  honourably 
declined  to  avail  himself  of,  for  when  he  had  tendered  his 
renewals  upon  the  most  moderate  terms,  and  these  had  been 
delayed  or  rejected  in  his  days  of  health,  he  peremtorily 
withstood  their  offers,  when  he  found  liis  life  was  hastening 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  185 

to  its  period,  esteeming  it  according  to  his  high  sense  of  ho- 
nour not  perfectly  fair  to  his  successor  to  take  what  he  call- 
ed the  packing-penny,  and  sweep  clean  before  his  depar- 
ture. He  left  his  see  therefore  much  more  valuable 
than  he  found  it  by  this  liberal  and  disinterested  conduct, 
by  which  it  was  natural  to  hope  he  had  secured  to  his  execu- 
tors the  good  offices  and  assistance  of  his  successor  in  reco- 
vering the  outstanding  arrears  due  to  his  survivors-: — ^but  in 
that  hope  we  were  shamefully  disappointed;  neither  these 
arrears,  nor  even  his  legal  demands  for  monies  expended  on 
improvements,  bcaeficial  to  the  demesne,  and  regularly  cer- 
tified by  his  diocesan,  could  be  recovered  by  me  for  my  sis- 
ter's use  till  the  Lord  Primate  took  the  cause  in  hand,  and 
enforced  the  sluggish  and  unwilling  satisfaction  from  the  bi- 
shop, who  succeeded  him. 

Previous  to  these  unhappy  events  I  had  written  my  fourth 
comedy  of  The  Choleric  Man^  and  left  it  with  Mr.  Garrick 
for  representation.  Whilst  I  was  at  Bath  the  rehearsals  were 
going  on,  and  the  play  was  brought  upon  the  stage  during 
my  absence.  It  succeeded  to  the  utmost  of  my  v/ishes,  but 
when  I  perceived  that  the  malevolence  of  the  public  prints 
suffered  no  abatement,  aud  saw  myself  charged  with  having 
vented  contemptuous  and  illiberal  speeches  in  the  theatre, 
where  I  couid  not  have  been,  against  productions  of  my 
contemporaries,  which  I  had  neither  heard  nor  seen,  galled 
with  such  false  and  cruel  aspersions,  which,  undcrthe  pres- 
sure of  my  recent  losses  and  misfortunes,  fell  on  me  with 
accumulated  asperity,  I  was  induced  to  retort  upon  my  de- 
famers,  and  accordingly  prefixed  to  the  printed  copy  of  my 
comedy  a  Dedication  to  Detraction^  in  which  I  observe  that 
"  lii-health  and  other  melancholy  attentions,  which  I  need 
not  explain;  kept  me  at  a  distance  from  the  scene  of  its  de- 
cision— "  The  chief  object  of  this  dedication  was  directed 
to  a  certain  tract  then  in  some  degree  of  circulation,  entitled 
An  Essay  on  the  Theatre^  in  wiiich  the  writer  professes  to 
draw  a  comparison  bettveen  laughing  and  &e7itimental  Comedy^ 
and  under  the  latter  description  partkularly  points  his  ob» 
servations  ^tthQ  Fashionable  Lover.  There  is  no  occasion 
for  me  to'  speak  further  of  this  dedication,  as  it  is  attached  to 
the  comedy,  whicn  is  yet  in  print,  except  to  observe  that  I 
can  still  repeat  with  truth  what  I  there  assert  to  my  imagi-^ 
nary  patron,  that  "  I  can  take  my  conscience  ta  witness.  I 
have  paid  him  no  sacrifice,  devoted  no  time  or  study  ta  his 


186  MEMOIRS  OF 

service,  nor  am  a  man  in  any  respect  qualified  to  repay  his 
favours — '* 

Garrick  wrote  the  epilogue  to  this  comedy,  as  he  also  did 
that  to  the  West-Indian,  and  Mrs.  Abington  spoke  it.  That 
charming  actress  was  now  at  the  height  of  her  fame,  and 
performed  the  part  of  Laetitia  in  a  style,  that  gave  great  sup- 
port to  the  representation.  The  two  brothers,  formed  upon 
the  plan  of  Terence's  Adelphi,  were  well  cast  between  Mr. 
King  and  Mr.  Aicken,  and  Western  personated  Jack  Night- 
shade with  inimitable  humour.  The  chief  effect  in  this  play 
is  produced  by  the  strong  contrast  of  character  between  Man- 
love  and  the  Choleric  Man,  and  again  with  more  comic  force 
between  Charles  the  courtly  gentleman  and  Jack  the  rustic 
booby,  who  at  the  first  meeting  with  his  brother  exclaims—- 
''  Who  wou'd  think  you  and  I  were  whelps  of  the^same 
breed  ?  You  are  as  sleek  as  my  lady's  lap-dog,  I  am  rough  as 
a  water-spaniel,  be-daggled  and  be-rnired,  as  if  I  had  come 
•out  of  the  fens  with  wild  fowl ;  why,  I  have  brought  off  as 
much  soil  upon  my  boots  only  as  would  set  up  a  Norfolk  far- 
mer— " 

It  was  observed  of  this  comedy  that  the  spirit  of  the  two 
first  acts  was  not  kept  up  through  4hc  concluding  three,  and 
the  general  sense  of  the  public  was  said  to  confirm  this  re- 
mark, therefore  I  presume  it  is  true.     It  was  a  successful 
play  in  its  time,  though  it  has  not  been  so  often  before  the 
public  as  any  of  the  three,  which  preceded  it,  and  since  Wes- 
ton's decease  it  has  been  consigned  to  the  shelf.     If  ever  ^ 
there  shall  be  found  an  editor  of  my  dramatic  works  as  an 
entire  collection,  this  comedy  will  stand  forward  as  one  of  the 
most  prominent  amongst  them.     The  plot  indeed  is  not: 
original,  but  the  characters  are  humourously  contrasted,  and  ^ 
there  is  point  and  spirit  in  the  dialogue.     Such  as  it  is,  it  was  * 
the  fourth  produced  in   four  succeeding  seasons,  and  if  I  - 
acquired  any  small  share  of  credit  by  these  which  preceded  ^: 
it,  I  did  not  forfeit  it  by  the  publication  of  this.  To  this  come- ' 
dy  I  appositely  affixed  the  following  motto  from  Piautus —     t 

Jam  instcec  insitiientia  est 
Sic  irai/i  in  Jirom/itu  gerere. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year  I  made  a  tour  in  company  with 
fny  friend  the  Earl  of  Warwick  to  the  Lakes  in  Cumber- 
land.    He  took  with  him  Mr.  Smith,  well  known  to  the  pub* 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  187 

lie  for  his  elegant  designs  after  nature  in  Switzerland,  Italy, 
and  elsewhere  ;  my  noble  friend  himself  is  a  master  in  the 
art  of  drawing  and  designing  landscapes  in  a  bold  and  strik- 
ing character,  of  which  our  tour  afforded  a  vast  variety. — 
Whilst  we  passed  a  few  days  at  Keswick,  I  hastily  com- 
posed an  irregular  ode,  "  which  was  literally  struck 
out  on  the  spot,  and  is  addressed  to  the  Sun  ;  for  as 
the  season  was  advancing  towards  winter,  we  had  frequent 
temptations  to  invoke  that  luminary,  who  was  never  very 
gracious  to  our  suit,  except  whilst  we  were  viewing  the  lake 
of  Keswick  and  its  accompaniments." 

With  this  invocation  my  ode  commences ^ 

"  Soul  of  the  world,  refulgent  Sun, 

"  Oh,  take  not  from  my  ravish'd  sight 

*'  Those  golden  beams  of  living  light, 

"  Nor  ere  thy  daily  course  be  run 
"  Precipitate  the  night. 

"  Lo,  where  the  ruffian  clouds  arise, 

"  Usurp  the  abdicated  skies, 

"  And  seize  th'  setherial  throne  ; 

*'  Sullen  sad  the  scene  appears, 

'^  Huge  Hclvellyn  streams  w4th  tears  ; 

*'  Hark  !  'tis  giant  Skiddaw's  groan ; 

^  I  hear  terrific  Laivdoor  roar  ; 

*'  The  sabbath  of  thy  reign  is  o'er, 
"  The  anarchy's  begun. 
"  Father  of  light,  return  ;  break  forth,  refulgent  Sun  !'^ 

This  Ode,  with  one  addressed  to  Doctor  James,  was 
published  and  sold  by  Mr.  Robson  in  New  Bond-street  in 
the  year  1776,  and  is  I  believe  to  be  found  in  the  Tour  to 
the  Lakes.  The  Ode  to  Doctor  Robert  James  was  suggest- 
ed by  the  recovery  of  my  second  son  from  a  dangerous  fe- 
ver, effectec^  under  Providence  by  his  celebrated  powders. 
I  am  tempted  to  insert  the  following  short  extract,  descrip- 
tive of  the  person  of  Death ^ 

'^  On  his  pale  steed  erect  the  monarch  stands, 
"  His  dirk  and  javelin  glittering  in  his  hands  : 
"  This  from  a  distance  deals  th'  ignoble  blow, 
''  And  that  dispatches  the  resisting  foe  : 
"  Whilst  all  beneath  him,  as  lie  flies, 
"  Dire  are  the  tossings,  deep  tl^e  cries, 
"  The  landscape  darkens  and  the  season  dies^ — /* 
t:fc,  is'c. 


183  MEMOIRS  OF 

These  Odes  I  addressed  to  Mr.  George  Romney,  then 
lately  returning  from  pursuing  his  studies  at  Rome. 

The  next  piece  that  I  presented  to  the  stage  under  the 
management  of  Mr.  Garrick  was  Timon  of  Athens^  altered.! 
from  Shakspeare,  to  which  I  prefixed  the  following  Adver- ; 
tisement,  when  it  was  published  by  Becket— 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  brought  this  play  upon  the  stage 
with  less  violence  to  its  author,  and  not  so  much  responsi- 
bility on  my  own  part.  New  characters  of  necessity  require 
some  display.  Many  original  passages  of  the  first  merit 
are  still  retained,  and  in  the  contemplation  of  them  my  errors 
I  hope  will  be  overlooked  or  forgiven.  In  examining  the 
brilliancy  of  a  diamond  fow  people  throw  away  any  remarks 
upon  the  dulness  of  the  foil — ."  Barry  played  the  part  of 
Timon,  and  Mrs.  Barry  that  of  Evan  the,  which  was  engraft- ' 
ed  on  the  original  for  the  purpose  of  writing  up  the  charac- 
ter of  Alcibiades,  in  which  a  young  actor  of  the  name  of 
Crofts  made  his  first  appearance  on  the  stage.  As  the  en- 
tire part  of  Evanthe,  and  with  a  very  few  exceptions  the 
whole  of  Alcibiades  are  new,  the  author  of  this  alteration 
has  much  to  answer  for,  and  much  it  behoved  him  to  make 
his  new  matter  harmonize  with  the  old  ;  with  what  degree 
of  success  this  is  done  it  scarce  becomes  me  to  say  ;  the 
public  approbation  seemed  to  sanction  the  attempt  at  the 
first  production  of  the  play,  the  neglect,  with  which  the 
stage  has  passed  it  over  since,  disposes  us  to  draw  conclu- 
sions less  in  favour  of  its  merit. 

As  few,  who  read  these  memoirs,  have  ever  met,  or  pro- 
bably ever  will  meet  with  this  altered  play,  which  is  now 
out  of  print,  I  trust  that  such  at  least  will  forgive  me  if  I  ex- 
tract a  short  specimen  from  my  owti  new  matter  in  the  se- 
cond act-— 

"  Act  2.     Scene  3. 
'•  JLucullus  cind  Lucius, 
JLucuL — ^'  How  now,  my  Lord  ;  in  private  ? 
Luc, — "  Yes,  I  thought  so, 

"  Till  an  unwelcome  intermeddling  Lord 
"  Stept  in  and  ask'd  the  question. 
Lucul, — "  What,  in  anger  ! 

"  By  heav'ns  I'll  gall  him  !  for  he  stands  before  me^ 
"  In  the  broad  sunshine  of  Lord  Timon'sbouiity, 
"  And  throws  my  better  merits  into  shade.     {^Aside^ 
Luc^~^^  Now  would  I  kill  him  if  I  durst.  [^Adde. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  189 

LucuL — "  Methinks 

"  You  look  but  coldly.    What  has  cross'd  your  suit  t 
"  Alas,  poor  Lucius  !  but  I  read  your  fate 
"  In  that  unkind-one's  frown. 

Luc, — "  No  doubt,  my  Lord, 

"  You,  that  receive  them  ever,  are  well  vers'd 
*'  In  the  unkind-one's  frowns  :  as  the  clear  stream 
"  Reflects  your  person,  so  may  you  espy 
"  In  the  sure  mirror  of  her  scornful  brow 
"  The  clouded  picture  of  your  own  despair. 

LiicuL — ^^  Come,  you  presume  too  far ;  talk  not  thus  idly 
"  To  me,  who  know  you. 

Luc. — "  Know  me  ? 

LucuL — "  Aye,  who  know  you. 

"  For  one,  that  courses  up  and  down  on  errands, 
"  A  stale  retainer  at  Lord  Tinion's  table  ; 
*'  A  man  grown  great  by  making  legs  and  cringes, 
"  By  winding  round  a  wanton  spendthrift's  heart, 
"  And  gulling  him  at  pleasure — Now  do  I  know  you  ? 

Luc, — "  Gods,  must  I  bear  this  ?  bear  it  from  Lucuilus  ? 

"  I,  who  first  brought  thee  to  Lord  Timon's  stirrup, 

*'  Set  thee  in  sight  and  breath'd  into  thine  ear 

"  The  breath  of  hope  ?  What  hadst  thou  been,  in- 

"  grateful, 
"  But  that  I  took  up  Jove's  imperfect  work, 
"  Gave  thee  a  shape  and  made  thee  into  man  ? 
"   Alcibiades  to  them, 

Alcih, — "  What,  wrangling,  my  Lords,  like  hungry  curs  for 
"  crusts  ? 
"  Away  with  this  unmanly  war  of  words  ! 
"  Pluck  forth  your  shining  rapiers  from  their  shells, 
"  And  level  boldly  at  each  other's  hearts. 
"  Hearts  did  I  say  ?    Your  hearts  are   gone  from 

"  home, 
"  And  hid  in  Timon's  coffers — Fie  upon  it ! 

Luc, — "  My  Lord  Lucuilus,  1  shall  find  a  time. 

Alcib, — "  Hah  !  find  a  time  1  the  brave  make  time  and  place. 
"  Gods,  gods,  what  things  are  men  I   you'll  find  a 

"  time? 
"  A  time  for  what  ? — To  murder  him  in  's  sleep  ? 
"  The  man  who  wrongs  me,  at  the  altar's  foot 
"  I'll  seize,  yea,  drag  him  from  the  sheltering  xgis 
^■^  Of  stern  Minerva. 


190  MEMOIRS  OF 

Luc  — -."  Aye  ;  'tis  your  profession. 
jilcil)  — «  Down  on  your  knees  and  thank  the  gods  for  that, 
"  Or  woe  for  Athens,  were  it  left  to  such 
"  As  you  are  to  defend.     Do  ye  not  hate 
"  Each  other  heartily  ?  Yet  neither  dares 
"  To  bear  his  trembling  falchion  to  the  sun. 
"  How  tame  they  dangle  on  your  coward  thighs  ! 
LucuL — "  We  are  no  soldiers,  Sir. 
Mcib. — "  No,  ye  are  Lords  : 

"  A  lazy,  proud,  unprofitable  crew  : 
"  The  vermin  gender'd  from  the  rank  corruption 
"  Of  a  luxurious  state — No  soldiers,  say  you  ? 
"  And  w^herefore  are  ye  none  ?  Have  you  not  life, 
"  Friends,  honour,  freedom,  country  to  defend  ? 
"  He,  that  hath  these,  by  nature  is  a  soldier, 
"  And,  when  he  wields  his  sword  in  their  defence, 
"  Instinctively  fulfils  the  end  he  lives  for — ." 
^c.  U'c. 

When  Moody  from  the  excellence  of  his  acting  in  the, 
part  of  Major  O'Flaherty,  became  the  established  performer 
of  Irish  characters,  I  wrote  in  compliance  with  his  wishes 
another  Hibernian  upon  a  smaller  scale,  and  composed  the 
entertainment  of  l^he  A^ote  of  Hand^  or  Trip,  to  Kcivmarket^ 
which  w^as  the  last  piece  of  my  writing  which  Mr.  GaiTick 
produced  upon  his  stage  before  he  disposed  of  his  property 
in  Drury-lane  theatre,  and  withdrew  from  business. 

During  my  residence  at  Bath  I  had  been  greatly  pleased 
with  the  performance  of  the  part  of  Sliylock  by  Mr.  Hen- 
derson, and,  upon  conversing  with  him,  found  that  his! 
wishes  strongly  pointed  to  an  engagement,  if  that  could  be 
obtained,  at  Drury-lane,  then  under  the  direction  of  Mr,' 
Garrick.  When  I  had  seen  him  in  different  characters,  an(^ 
became  confirmed  in  my  opinion  of  his  merit,  I  warmly  re- 
commended him  to  Mr.  Garrick,  and  was  empowered  ta 
contract  for  his  engagement  upon  terms,  tliat  to  my  judg- 
ment, and  that  of  other  intermediate  friends,  appeared  to  ba 
extremely  reasonable.  At  first  I  conceived  the  negociation, 
as  good  as  concluded,  but  some  reports,  that  ratlier  clashed 
with  mine,  rendered  Mr.  Garrick  cool  in  the  business,  and: 
disposed  to  consult  other  opinions  as  to  Mr.  Henderson's 
abilities  ;  and  amongst  these  he  seemed  greatly  to  depend 
upon  his  brother  George's  judgment,  whose  report  was  by. 
no  means  of  the  same  sanguine  complexion  with  mine. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND:  191 

Poor  George  had  come  to  Bath  in  a  lamentable  state  of 
health,  and  must  have  seen  Henderson  with  distempered 
eyes  to  err  so  egregiously  as  he  did  in  his  account  of  him. 
It  proved  however  in  the  upshot  decisive  against  my  ad- 
vice, and  after  a  languishing  negociation,  which  got  at  length 
into  other  hands  than  mine,  Garrick  made  the  transfer  of  his 
property  in  the  theatre  without  the  name  of  Henderson  up- 
on the  roll  of  his  performers.  Truth  obliges  me  to  say  that 
the  negociation  in  all  parts  and  passages  was  not  creditable 
to  Mr.  Garrick,  and  left  impressions  on  the  mind  of  Hender- 
son, that  time  did  not  speedily  wear  out.  He  had  wit,  infi- 
nite pleasantry  and  inimitable  powers  of  mimickry,  which  he 
felt  himself  privileged  to  employ,  and  employed  only  too 
successfully.  The  season  of  the  winter  theatres  passed 
over,  and  when  the  Hay  market  house  opened,  Hendei'son 
came  from  Bath  with  all  the  powers  of  his  genius  on  the 
alert,  and  upon  the  summer  stage  fully  justified  every  thing 
that  I  and  others  had  said  of  him  through  the  winter,  and 
established  himself  completely  in  the  public  favour.  A 
great  resort  of  men  of  talents  nov/  flocked  around  him  ;  the 
tov/n  considered  him  as  a  man  injuriously  rejected,  and 
though,  when  they  imputed  it  to  envy  I  am  sure  tliey  were 
mistaken,  yet  when  Garrick  found  that  by  lending  his  ear  to 
foolish  opinions,  and  quibbling  about  terms,  he  had  missed 
the  credit  of  engaging  the  best  actor  of  the  time,  himself 
excepted,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  the  praise,  bestowed 
on  Henderson's  performances,  was  not  tlie  most  agreeable 
topic,  that  coukLbe  chosen  for  his  entertainment.  He  could 
not  indeed  ;dways  avoid  hearing  these  applauses,  but  he  did 
not  hold  himself  obliged  to  second  them,  and  wlien  curio- 
sity drew  him  to  the  summer  theatre  to  see  Henderson  in 
the  part  of  ^hylock,  he  said  nothing  in  his  dispraise,  but  he 
discovered  great  merit  in  Tubals  which  of  course  had  been 
the  cast  of  some  second-rate  performer. 

Henderson  in  the  mean  time  was  transferred  from  the 
Hiiymarket  theatre  to  Drury-lane,  under  the  direction  of 
Mr.  Sheridan,  where  I  brought  out  my  tragedy  of  The  Bat- 
tle of  HaschigSy  in  which  he  played  the  part  of  Edgar  Athe- 
ling,  not  indeed  Avith  the  happiest  effect,  for  he  did  not  pos- 
sess the  graces  of  person  or  deportment,  and  as  that  charac- 
ter demanded  both,  an  actor  might  have  been  found,  who 
with  inferior  abilities  would  have  been  a  fitter  representative 
of  it.     As  for  the  play  itself,  it  w^  published  and  is  to  be 


192  MEMOIRS  OF 

found  in  more  collections  than  one  ;  its  readers  will  proba< 
biy  be  of  opinion,  that  it  is  better  written  than  planned  ;  a 
judgment  to  which  I  shall  most  readily  submit,  not  only  inj 
this  instance  but  in  several  others. 

About  this  time  died  the  Earl  of  Halifax.  He  had  filled 
the  high  stations  of  First  Lord  of  Trade  and  Plantations,^ 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  Principal  Secretary  of  State, 
First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  county 
of  Northampton,  and  Knight  of  the  Garter!  He  had  no  son, 
and  his  title  is  extinct.  His  fine  mansion  and  estate  of  Stan- 
sted,  left  to  hini  by  Mr.  Lumley,  was  sold  after  his  decease. 
I  saw  him  in  his  last  illness,  when  his  constitution  was  an 
absolute  wreck  :  I  was  subpoena'd  to  give  evidence  on  this- 
point  before  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  Mansfield,  and  accord- 
ing to  my  conscience  deposed  what  was  my  opinion  of  his 
hopeless  state ;  his  physician  Sir  Noah  Thomas,  whose 
professional  judgment  had  justly  more  authority  and  influ- 
ence than  mine,  by  his  deposition  superseded  mine,  and  the; 
death  of  his  patient  very  shortly  after  contradicted  his.  I 
never  knew  that  man,  whose  life,  if  circumstantially  detail-' 
ed,  would  furnish  a  more  striking  moral  and  a  more  tragicalj 
catastrophe.  Nature  endowed  him  liberally  with  her  gifts,; 
Fortune  showered  her  favours  profusely  upon  him,  Provi-: 
dence  repeatedly  held  forth  the  most  extraordinary  vouch 
safements — What  a  mournful  retrospection !  I  am  not 
bound  to  dwell  upon  it.     I  turn  from  it  with  horror. 

A  brighter  scene  now  meets  me,  for  v/hilst  I  was  yet  a 
subaltern  in  the  Board  of  Trade,  uncomfortably  executing 
the  office  of  clerk  of  the  reports,  by  the  accession  of  Lord 
George  Germain  to  the  seals  for  the  colonial  department  I 
had  a  new  principal  to  look  up  to.  I  had  never  been  in  a 
room  with  him  in  my  life,  except  during  his  trial  at  the 
Horse-Guards  for  the  affair  of  Minden,  which  I  attended 
through  the  whole  of  its  progress,  and  regularly  reported 
what  occurred  to  Mr.  Dodington,  who  was  then  out  of 
town  ;  some  of  his  letters  I  preserved,  but  of  my  own,  ac- 
cording to  custom,  I  took  no  copies.  When  Lord  George 
liad  taken  tlie  seals,  I  asked  my  friend  Colonel  James  Cun- 
ningham totake^me  v/ith  him  to  Pail-Mall,  which  he  did, 
and  the  ceremony  of  paying  my  respects  v/as  soon  dismiss- 
ed. I  confess  I  thought  my  new  chief  was  quite  as  cold  in 
his  manner  as  a  minister  need  be,  and  rather  more  so  than 
my  intermediate  friend  had  given  me  reason  to  expect,     I 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  I  a 

was  now  livini^in  great  intimacy  with  the  Duke  of  Dorset, 
and  asked  him  to  do  me  that  grace  with  his  uncle,  which  the 
honour  of  being  acknowledged  by  him  as  his  friend  would 
naturally  have  obtained  for  me.  This  I  am  confident  he 
would  readily  have  done  but  for  reasons,  v/hich  precluded  all 
desire  on  my  part  to  say  another  word  upon  the  business.  I 
was  therefore  left  to  make  my  own  way  with  a  perfect  stran- 
ger, whilst  I  was  in  actual  negociation  v/ith  Mr.  Pownall  for 
the  secretaryship,  and  had  understood  Lord  Clare  to  be 
friendly  to  our  treaty  in  the  very  moment  when  he  ceased 
to  be  our  first  lord,  and  the  power  of  accommodating  us  in 
our  wishes  was  shifted  from  his  hands  into  those  of  Lord 
George.  I  considered  it  therefore  as  an  opportunity  gone 
by,  and  entertained  no  further  hopes  of  succeeding.  A  very 
short  time  sufficed  to  confirm  the  idea  I  had  entertained  of 
Lord  George's  cha.racter  for  decision  and  dispatch  in  busi- 
ness :  there  was  at  once  an  end  to  all  our  circumlocutory  re- 
ports and  inefficient  forms,  that  had  only  impeded  business, 
^nd  substituted  ambiguity  for  precision  :  there  was  (as  Wil- 
liam Gerard  Hamilton,  speaking  of  Lord  George,  truly  ob- 
served to  me)  no  trash  in  his  mind  ;  he  studied  no  choice 
phrases,  no  superfluous  words,  nor  ever  suffered  the  clear- 
ness of  his  conceptions  to  be  clouded  by  the  obscurity  of  his 
expressions,  for  these  were  the  simplest  and  most  unequi* 
vocal  that  could  be  made  use  of  for  explaining  his  opinions, 
or  dictating  his  instructions.  In  the  meanwhile  he  vras  so 
momentarily  punctual  to  his  time,  so  religiously  observant 
of  his  engagements,  that  we,  who  served  under  him  in  office, 
felt  the  sweets  of  the  exchange  we  had  so  lately  made  in  the 
person  of  our  chief. 

I  had  now  no  other  prospect  but  that  of  serving  in  my 
_  subordinate  situation  under  an  easy  master  with  security  and 
comfort,  for  as  I  was  not  flattered  v/ith  the  show  of  any  no- 
tices from  him  but  such  as  t  might  reasonably  expect,  I 
built  no  hopes  upon  his  favour,  nor  allov/ed  myself  to  think  I 
was  in  any  train  of  succeeding  in  my  treaty  with  our  secre- 
tary for  his  office  ;  and  as  I  had  reason  to  believe  he  was 
equally  happy  with  myself  in  serving  under  such  a  princi- 
pal, I  took  for  granted  he  would  move  no  further  in  the  bu- 
siness. 

One  day,  as  Lord  George  was  leaving  the  office,  he  stopt 
me  on  the  outside  of  the  door,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and 
invited  me  to  pass  some  days  with  kim  and  his  family  al 


194  MEMOIRS  OF    , 

Stoneland  near  Tunbridge  Wells.  It  was  on  my  part  so  un= 
expected,  that  I  doubted  if  I  had  rightly  understood  him,  as 
he  spoke  in  a  low  and  submitted  voice,  as  his  manner  was, 
and  I  consulted  his  confidential  secretary  Mr.  Doyley,  whe- 
ther he  would  advise  me  to  the  journey.  He  told  me  that 
he  knew  the  house  was  filled  from  top  to  bottom  with  a  large 
party,  that  he  was  sure  there  would  be  no  room  for  me,  and 
dissuaded  me  from  the  undertaking.  I  did  not  quite  follow 
his  advice  by  neglecting  to  present  myself,  but  I  resolved  to 
secure  my  retreat  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  and  kept  my  chaise 
in  waiting  to  make  good  my  quarters.  When  I  arrived  at 
Stoneland  I  was  met  at  the  door  by  Lord  George,  who  soon 
discovered  the  precaution  I  had  taken,  and  himself  conduct- 
ing me  to  my  bed-chamber,  told  me  it  had  been  reserved 
for  me,  and  ever  after  would  be  set  apart  as  mine,  where  he 
hoped  I  would  consent  to  find  myself  at  home.  This  was 
the  m.an  I  had  esteemed  so  cold,  and  thus  was  I  at  once  in- 
troduced to  the  commencement  of  a  friendship,  which  day 
by  day  improved,  and  which  no  one  v/ord  or  action  of  his 
life  to  coine  ever  for  an  instant  interrupted  or  diminished. 

Shortly  after  this  it  came  to  his  knowledge  that  there  had 
been  a  treaty  between  Mr.  Pownall  and  me  for  his  resigna- 
tion of  the  place  of  Secretary,  and  he  asked  me  what  had 
passed ;  I  told  him  how  it  stood,  and  what  the  conditions 
were,  that  my  superior  in  office  expected  for  the  accommo-  • 
dation.  I  had  not  yet  mentioned  this  to  him,  and  probably 
never  should.  He  said  he  would  take  it  into  his  own  hands, 
and  in  a  few  days  signified  the  king's  pleasure  that  Mr.  Pow- 
nall's  resignation  was  accepted,  and  that  I  should  succeed 
hiui  as  Secretary  in  clear  and  full  enjoyment  of  the  place, 
without  any  compensation  whatsoever.  Thus  was  I,  beyond 
all  hope  and  without  a  word  said  to  me,  that  could  lead  me 
to  expect  a  favour  of  that  sort,  promoted  by  surprise  to  a 
very  advantageous  and  desirable  situation.  I  came  to  my  \ 
office  at  the  hour  appointed,  not  dreamhig  of  such  an  event, 
and  took  my  seat  at  the  adjoining  table,  when,  Mr.  Pownall 
being  called  out  of  the  room,  Lord  George  turned  round  to 
me  and  bade  me  take  his  chair  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  an- 
nouncing to  the  Board  his  majesty's  commands,  as  above  re- 
cited, with  a  positive  prohibition  of  all  stipulations.  When 
I  had  endeavoured  to  express  myself  as  properly  on  the  oc- 
casion, as  my  agitated  state  of  spirits  would  allow  of,  I  re- 
member Lord  Geor8:e  made  answer,  "  That  if  I  was  as  well 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  196 

pleased  upon  receiving  his  majesty's  commands, 'as  he  was 
in  being  the  bearer  of  them,  I  was  indeed  very  happy." — If 
I  served  him  truly,  honestly  and  ardently  ever  after,  till  T 
followed  him  to  the  grave,  where  is  my  merit  ?  How  could 
I  do  otherwise  ? 

The  conflict  in  America  was  now  raging  at  its  height ;  that 
was  a  business  out  of  my  office  to  be  concerned  in,  and  I  wil- 
lingly pass  it  over ;  but  it  was  in  my  way  to  knov/  the  effects  it 
had  upon  the  anxious  spirit  of  my  friend,and  very  much  it  was 
both  my  wish  ?j\d  my  endeavour  by  every  means  in  my  capa- 
city to  be  helpful  at  those  hours,  which  were  necessary  for  his 
relaxation,  and  take  to  my  share  as  many  of  those  burthen- 
some  and  vexatious  concerns,  as  without  intrusion  upon 
other  people's  offices  I  could  relieve  him  from.  All  that  I 
could  I  did,  and  as  I  was  daily  with  him,  and  never  out  of 
call,  I  reflect  with  comfort,  that  there  were  occasions  when 
my  zeal  v\^as  not  unprofitably  exerted  for  his  alleviation  and 
repose.  I  might  say  more,  for  those  were  trying  and  un- 
quiet times.  It  is  not  a  very  safe  or  enviable  predicament  to 
be  marked  out  for  a  known  attachment  to  an  unpopular  cha- 
racter, and  be  continually  under  arms  to  turn  out  and  en- 
counter the  prejudices  of  mankind.  Tliere  is  a  middle  kind 
of  way,  which  some  men  can  hit  off,  between  doing  all  and 
doing  nothing,  which  saves  appearances  and  satisfies  easy 
consciences  ;  but  some  consciences  are  not  so  easily  sat- 
isfied. 

I  had  now  four  sons  at  Westminster-school  boarding  at 
one  house,  and  my  two  daughters  coming  into  the  world,  so 
that  the  accession  to  my  circumstances,  which  my  promo- 
tion in  office  gave  me,  put  me  greatly  at  my  ease,  and  ena- 
bled me  to  press  their  education  with  advantage.  My  eldest 
son  Richard  went  through  Westminster  with  the  reputation 
of  an  excellent  school-scholar,  and  I  admitted  him  of  Trin- 
ity College,  but  in  one  of  his  vacations  having  prevailed 
with  me  to  let  him  volunteer  a  cruize  with  Sir  Charles  Har- 
dy, then  commander  of  the  home  fleet,  the  rage  of  service 
seized  him,  and  by  his  importunity  I  may  say  in  the  words 
of  Polonius  he  wrung  from  vie  my  slmv  leave  to  let  him  enter 
himself  an  ensign  in  the  first  regiment  of  foot-guards.  This 
at  once  gave  fire  to  the  train,  and  the  three  remaining  heroes 
breathed  nothing  but  war :  my  second  boy  George  took  to 
the  sea,  and  sailed  for  America  ;  my  third  Charles  enrolled 
himself  an  ensign  in  the  tenth,  and  my  youngest  William 


J  96  MEMOIRS  OF 

disposed  of  himself  as  my  second  had  done,  and  also  took  his 
departure  for  America  under  the  command  of  the  late  Sir 
Richard  Kughes. 

I  had  been  dispossessed  of  my  delightful  residence  at  Ty- 
ringham,  near  to  which  Mr.  Praed,  the  present  possessor, 
lias  now  built  a  splendid  mansion,  and  I  had  taken  a  house  at 
Tetworth  in  Bedfordshire  to  be  near  my  kind  and  ever  hon- 
oured friend  Lady  Frances  Burgoync,  sister  to  Lord  Hali- 
fax. Here  I  passed  the  summer  recesses,  and  in  one  of 
these  I  wrote  the  Opera  of  Calyfiso^  for  the  purpose  of  intro- 
ducing to  the  public  the  compositions  of  Mr.  Butler,  then  a 
young  man,  newly  returned  from  Italy,  where  he  had  stu- 
died under  Piccini,  and  given  early  proofs  of  his. genius. 
He  passed  the  summer  with  me  at  Tetworth,  and  there  he 
Vv^'ote  the  music  for  Calypso  in  the  style  of  a  serious  opera. 
Calypso  was  brought  out  at  Covent«Garden,  but  that  theatre 
v/as  not  by  any  means  possessed  of  such  a  strength  of  vocal 
performers,  as  have  of  late  years  belonged  to  it.  Mrs.  Ken- 
nedy in  the  part  of  Telemachus,  and  Leoni  in  that  of  Pro- 
teus, were  neither  of  them  very  eminently  qualified  to  grace 
the  action  of  an  opera,  yet  as  that  was  a  consideration  sub- 
ordinate to  the  music,  it  was  to  them  that  Mr.  Butler  ad- 
dressed his  chief  attention,  and  looked  up  for  his  support. 
I  believe  I  may  venture  to  say  that  more  beautiful  and  ori- 
ginal compositions  were  never  presented  to  the  English 
stage  by  a  native  master,  though  I  am  not  unmindful  of  the 
fame  of  Artaxerxes  ;  but  Calypso,  supported  only  by  Leoni 
and  Mrs.  Kennedy,  did  not  meet  success  proportioned  to  its 
merit,  and  I  should  humbly  conceive  upon  the  same  stage, 
which  has  since  been  so  powerfully  mounted  by  Braham, 
Incledon  and  Storace,  it  might  have  been  revived  with  bril- 
liant eiTect.  Why  Mr.  Butler  did  not  publish  his  music,  or 
a  selection  at  least  of  those  airs,  which  were  most  applaud- 
ed, I  cannot  tell  ;  but  so  it  was,  and  the  score  now  remains 
in  the  depot  of  Covent  Garden,  whilst  a  few  only  of  the 
songs,  and  those  in  manuscript,  are  in  the  possession  of  my 
second  daughter  Sophia,  whom  he  instructed  in  singing, 
and  with  the  aid  of  great  natural  talents  on  her  part,  accom- 
plished her  very  highly.  Calypso  as  a  drama  has  been  pub- 
lished, therefore  of,  my  share  in  it  as  an  opera  I  need  not  say 
much  ;  it  is  before  the  reader,  but  I  confess  I  lament  that 
music,  which  I  conceive  to  be  so  exquisitely  beautiful, 
should  be  buried  in  oblivion.     Mr.  Butler  has  been  lonr^ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  197 

since  settled  at  Edinbnrg-h  as  a  teacher  and  writer  of  music, 
and  is  well  known  to  the  performers  and  admirers  of 
that  art. 

That  I  may  not  aii^ain  recur  to  my  dramatic  connexions 
with  this  ingenious  composer,  I  will  here  observe  that  in  the 
following  season  I  wrote  a  comic  opera,  which  I  entitled  The 
IVidow  o/Delfihi,  or  The  Descent  of  the  Deities^the  songs  of 
which  he  set  to  n.  usic.  Mr.  Butler  published  a  selection  of 
songs,  &c.  from  this  opera,  but  as  I  was  going  out  of  England 
I  did  not  send  my  copy  to  the  press,  and  having  now  had  it 
many  years  in  my  hands  by  the  frequent  revisions  and  cor- 
rections, which  I  have  had  opportunities  of  giving  to  this 
manuscript,  I  am  encouraged  to  believe  that  if  I,  or  any  af- 
ter me,  shall  send  it  into  the  world,  this  drama  will  be 
considered  as  one  of  my  most  classical  and  creditable  pro- 
ductions. 

Having  adverted  to  the  happiness  and  honour,  which  I  en~ 
joyed  in  the  friendship  of  Lady  Frances  Burgoync,  it  occurs 
to  me  to  relate  the  part,  which  at  her  request  I  undertook,  in 
the  behalf  of  the  unfortunate  Robert  Perrcau,  when  under  trial  ^ 
for  his  life.  The  defence,  which  he  read  at  the  bar,  was  to  a 
word  drawn  up  by  me,  under  the  revision  of  his  council  Mr. , 
Dunning,  who  did  not  change  a  syllable.  I  dined  with  Gar- 
rick  on  the  very  day  when  Robert  Perreau  had  delivered  it 
in  court ;  there  was  a  large  company,  and  he  was  expatiat- 
ing upon  the  effect  of  it,  for  he  had  been  present ;  he  even 
detailed  the  heads  of  it  with  considerably  accuracy,  and  Was 
so  rapturous  in  his  praises  of  it,  that  he  predicted  confidently, 
though  not  truly,  that  the  man,  who  drew  up  that  defence, 
had  saved  the  prisoner's  life,  and  what  would  he  not  give  to 
know  who  it  wa,s  ?  I  confess  my  vanity  v/as  strongly  moved  to 
tell  him  ;  but  he  shortly  after  found  it  out,  and  perhaps  re- 
pented of  his  hyperboles,  for  it  was  not  good  policy  in  him  to 
over-praise  a  writer  for  the  stage .  When  poor  Dodd  fell  un- 
der the  like  misfortune,  he  applied  to  me  in  the  first  instance 
for  the  like  good  offices,  but  as  soon  as  I  understood  that 
application  had  been  made  to  Doctor  Johnson,  and  that  he  was 
about  to  be  taken  under  his  shield,  I  did  what  every  other 
friend  to  the  unhappy  would  have  done,  consigned  him  to 
the  stronger  advocate,  convinced  that  if  the  powers  of  John- 
son could  not  move  mercy  to  reach  his  lamentable  case, 
there  was  no  further  hope  in  man  ;  his  penitence  alone  couMi 
save  hiiiiv 


193  MEMOIRS  OF 

I  had  knovvTi  Sir  George  Brydges  Rodney  in  early  life,  and 
whilst  he  was  residing-  in  France,  pending  the  uneasy  state 
of  his  affairs  at  home,  had  spared  no  pains  to  serve  his  inte- 
rest and  pave  the  way  for  his  return  to  his  own  country,  where 
I  was  not  Vvithout  hopes  by  the  recommendation  of  Lord 
George  Germain  to  pmcure  him  an  employment  worthy  of 
his  talents  and  high  station  in  the  navy.  I  drew  up  from  his; 
minutes  a  memorial  of  his  services,  and  petitioned  for  em- 
ploy :  he  came  home  at  the  risque  of  his  liberty  to  refute 
some  malicious  imputations,  that  had  been  glanced  at  his 
character  :  this  he  effectually  and  honourably  accomplished, 
and  I  was  furnished  with  testimonials  very  creditable  to  him 
as  an  officer  ;  his  situation  in  the  meanwhile  was  very  uncom- 
fortable and  his  exertions  circumscribed,  yet  in  this  pressure 
of  his  affairs,  to  mark  his  readiness  and  zeal  for  service,  he- 
addressed  a  letter  to  the  king,  tendering  himself  to  serve  as 
volunteer  under  an  admiral,  then  going  out,  who,  if  I  do  not 
mistake,  was  his  junior  on  the  list.  In  this  forlorn  unfriended 
state,  v/ith  nothing  but  exclusion  and  despair  before  his  eyes, 
when  not  a  ray  of  hope  beamed  upon  him  from  the  admi- 
ralty, and  he  dared  not  set  a  foot  beyond  the  limits  of  his  pri- 
vilege, I  had  the  happy  fortune  to  put  in  train  that  statement 
of  his  claim  for  service  and  employ,  which  through  the  im- 
mediate application  oi  Lord  George,  taking  all  the  responsi- 
bility on  himself,  obtained  for  that  adventurous  and  gallant 

^  admiral  the  command  of  that  squadron,  which  on  its  passage 
to  the  Vv  est-Indies  naade  capture  of  the  Spanish  fieet  fitted 
out  for  the  Garaccas.  The  degree  of  gratification  which  I 
then  experienced,  is  not  easily  to  be  described.  It  was  not 
only  that  of  a  triumph  gained,  but  of  a  terror  dismissed,  for 
the  West  India  merchants  had  been  alarmed  and  clamoured 
against  the  appointment  so  generally  and  so  decidely  as  ta 
Occasion  no  small  uneasiness  to  my  friend  and  patron,  and 
drew  from  him  something,  that  resembled  a  remonstrance 
for  the  risque  I  had  exposed  him  to.  But  in  the  brilliancy; 
of  this  exploit  allwas  done  away,  and  past  alarms  were  only 
recollected  to  contrast  the  joy  which  this  success  diffused. 

Here  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  if  I  record  an  answer  of  Lord 
George  Germain's  to  an  officious  gentleman,  who  upon  some 
reference  tome  in  his  concerns  expressed  himself  with  sur- 
prise at  the  degree  of  influence  vv^iich  I  appeared  to  have— - 
*'  You  are  very  right,"  replied  my  friend,  ^'  that  gentleman 
has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  me  and  my  affairs,  and  if  you  can 

/ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  199 

find  any  other  to  take  his  place  as  disinterestedly  attached  to 
me  and  as  capable  of  serving  me,  lam  confident  he  will  hold 
himself  very  highly  obliged  to  you  for  relieving  him  from  a 
burden,  that  brings  him  neither  profit  nor  advantage,  and 
only  subjects  him"  to  such  remarks,  as  you  have  now  been 
making — " 

It  happened  to  me  to  be  present,  and  sitting  next  to  Ad- 
miral Rodney  at  table,  when  the  thought  seemed  first  to 
occur  to  him  of  breaking  the  French  line  by  passing  through 
it  in  the  heat  of  action.  It  was  at  Lord  George  Germain's 
house  at  Stoneland  after  dinner,  when  having  asked  a  num- 
ber of  questions  about  the  manceuvring  of  columns,  and  the 
efl'ect  of  charging  with  them  on  a  line  of  infantry,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  arrange  a  parcel  of  cherry  stones,  which  he  had 
collected  froYn  the  table,  and  forming  them  as  two  fleets 
drawn  up  in  line  and  opposed  to  each  other,  he  at  once  ar- 
rested our  attention,  which  had  not  been  very  generally  en- 
gaged by  his  preparatory  enquiries,  by  declaring  he  was  de- 
termined so  to  pierce  the  enemy's  line  of  battle,  (arranging 
his  manoeuvre  at  the  same  time  on  the  table)  if  ever  it  was 
his  fortune  to  bring  them  into  action.  I  dare  say  this  passed 
with  some  as  mere  rhapsody,  and  all  seemed  to  regard  it  as 
a  very  perilous  and  doubtful  experiment,  but  landsmen's 
doubts  and  difficulties  made  no  impression  on  the  admiral, 
who  having  seized  the  idea  held  it  fast,  and  in  his  eager  ani- 
mated v/ay  went  on  manoeuvring  his  cherry  stones,  and  throw- 
ing his  enemy's  representatives  into  such  utter  confusion, 
that  already  possessed  of  that  victory  in  imagination,  which 
in  reality  he  lived  to  gain,  he  concluded  his  process  by  swear- 
ing he  w^ould  lay  the  French  admiral's  flag  at  his  sovereign's 
feet:  a  promise  v/hich  he  actually  pledged  to  his  majesty 
;.i  his  closet,  and  faithfully  and  gloriously  performed. 

He  w^as  a  singular  and  extraordinary  man  ;  there  were 
some  prominent  and  striking  eccentricities  about  him,  which 
on  a  first  acquaintance  might  dismiss  a  cursory  observer 
with  inadequate  and  false  impressions  of  his  real  character ; 
for  he  would  very  commonly  indulge  himself  in  a  loose  and 
heedless  style  of  talking,  wiiich  for  a  time  miglit  intercept 
and  screen  from  observation  the  sound  good  sense  that  he 
possessed,  and  the  strength  and  dignity  of  mind,  that  were 
natui'ai  to  him.  Neither  ought  it  to  be  forgotten  that  the  sea 
v/as  his  element,  and  it  was  there,  and  not  on  Jand,  that  the 
standard  ought  to  be  planted  by  which  his  merits  should  be 


300  MEMOIRS  OF 

lueasured.     We  are  apt  to  set  that  man  down  as  vain-glori-  i 
.  ous  and  unwise,  who  fights  battles  over  the  table,  and  in  the 
ardour  of  his  conversation  though  amongst  enviers  and  ene- 
mies, keeps  no  w\atch  upon  his  words,  confiding  in  their 
candour  and  believing  them  his  friends.     Such  a  man  was  i 
Admiral  Lord  Rodney,  whom  history  will  record  amongst  ' 
the  foremost  of  our  naval  heroes,  and  whoever  doubts  his 
courage  might  as  v/ell  dispute  against  the  light  of  the  sun  at 
noon-day. 

That  he  carried  this  projected  manoeuvre  into  operation, 
atid  that  the  effect  of  it  was  successfully  decisive  all  the 
world  knows.  My  friend  sir  Charles  Douglas,  captain  of  the 
fleet,  confessed  to  me  that  he  himself  had  been  adverse  to  the 
experiinent,  and  in  discussing  it  with  the  admiral  had  stated 
his  objections ;  to  these  he  got  no  other  answer  but  that "  his 
"  counsel  was  not  called  for  ;  he  required  obedience  only, 
^'  he  did  not  want  advice — "  sir  Charles  also  told  me  that 
whilst  the  project  was  in  operation,  (the  battle  then  raging) 
his  own  attention  being  occupied  by  the  gallant  defence  made 
by  the  French  Glorieux  against  the  ships  that  were  pouring 
their  fire  into  her,  upon  his  crying  out — "  Behold,  sir 
George,  the  Greeks  and  Trojans  contending  for  the  body 
of  Patroclus  ! — "  The  admiral  then  pacing  the  quarter  deck 
in  great  agitation  pending  the  experiment  of  his  manoeuvre, 
(which  m  the  instance  of  one  ship  had  unavoidably  miscarried) 
peevishly  exclaimed — "  Damn  the  Greeks,  and  damn  the 
Trojans  ;  I  have  other  things  to  ifiink  of—-"  When  in  a 
few  minutes  after,  his  supporting  ship  having  led  through 
the  French  line  in  a  gallant  style,  turning  with  a  smile  of  joy 
to  sir  Charles  Douglas,  he  cried  out—''  Now  my  dear  friend, 
I  am  at  the  service  of  your  Greeks  and  Trojans,  and  the 
whole  of  Homer's  Iliad,  or  as  much  of  it  as  you  please,  for 
the  enemy  is  in  confusion,  and  our  victory  is  secure — .'^ 
This  anecdote,  correctly  as  I  relate  it,  I  had  from  that  gal- 
lant officer,  untimely  lost  to  his  country,  w^hose  candour 
scorned  to  rob  his  admiral  of  one  leaf  of  his  laurels,  and  who, 
disclaiming  all  share  in  the  manoeuvre,  nay  confessing  he  had 
objected  to  it,  did  in  the  most  pointed  and  decided  terms 
again  and  again  repeat  Lis  honourable  attestations  of  the 
courage  and  conduct  of  his  commanding  officer  on  that  me- 
morable day. 

In  a  short  time  after,  when,  upon  a  change  of  the  admin- 
istration, this  victorious  admiral  was  superseded  and  called. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  201 

liome,  he  confirmed  by  his  practice  that  maxim  which  he 
took  every  opportunity  to  inculcate,  (and  a  very  wise  one 
and  well  Worthy  of  being  recorded  it  is)  viz. — *'  that  our  na- 
"  val  officers  have  nothing  to  do  with  parties  and  politics, 
"  being'  simply  bound  to  carry  their  instructions  into  execu- 
"  tion,  to  the  best  of  their  abilities,  without  deliberating  a- 
'*  bout  men  and  measures,  which  forms  no  part  of  their 
"  duty,  and  for  which  they  are  in  no  degree  responsible — ." 
It  was  to  this  transaction  I  alluded  in  the  following  lines, 
which  I  wrote  and  enclosed  to  Lord  Mansfield  about  this 
time.  I  had  the  honour  and  happiness  of  enjoying  his  so- 
ciety frequently,  but  the  immediate  reason  for  my  addres- 
sing him  in  this  stile  has  no  connexion  with  the  subject  here 
referred  to 

To  the  Earl  of  Mansfield. 

"  Shall  merit  find  no  shelter  but  the  grave, 

"  And  envy  still  pursue  the  wise  and  brave  ? 

"  Sticks  the  leech  close  to  life,  and  only  drops 

"  When  its  food  fails  and  the  heart's  current  stops  ? 

"  Though  sculptur'd  laurels  grace  'the  hero's  bust, 

"  And  tears  are  mingled  with  the  poet's  dust, 

"  Review  their  sad  memorials,  you  will  find 

"  This  fell  by  faction,  that  in  misery  pin'd. 

"  When  France  and  Spain  the  subject  ocean  swept, 

"  Whilst  Britain's  tame  inglorious  lion  slept, 

"  Or  lashing  up  his  courage  now  and  then, 

"  Turn'd  out  and  growl'd,  and  then  turn'd  in  again, 

"  Rodney  in  that  ill-omen'd  hour  arose, 

"  Crush'd  his  own  first  and  next  his  country's  foes  ; 

"  Though  all  that  fate  allow'd  was  nobly  won, 

"  Envy  could  squint  at  something  still  undone  ; 

"  Injurious  faction  stript  him  of  command, 

*'  And  snatch'd  the  helm  from  his  victorious  hand, 

"  Summon'd  the  nation's  brave  defender  home, 

"  Prejudg'd  his  cause  and  warn'd  him  to  his  doom  ; 

''  Whilst  hydra-headed  malice  open'd  wide 

"  Her  thousand  mouths,  and  bay'dhim  till  he  died. 

"^  The  poet's  cause  comes  next — and  you,  my  Lord, 
*^  The  Muse's  friend,  will  take  a  poet's  word  ; 


202  MEMOIRS  OF 

"  Trust  me  our  province  is  replete  with  pain  ; 

"  They  say  we're  irritable,  envious,  vain  : 

"  They  say~and  Time  has  variiish'd  o'er  the  lie 

"  Till  it  assumes  Truth's  venerable  dye— 

"  That  wits,  like  falcons  soaring  for  their  prey, 

"  Pounce  everv  wing  that  flutters  in  their  way, 

"  Plunder  each  rival  songster's  tuneful  breast 

"  To  deck  with  other's  plumes  their  own  dear  nest ; 

"  They  say — but  tis  an  office  I  disclaim 

"  To  brush  their  cobwebs  from  the  roll  of  fame, 

"  There  let  the  spider  hang  and  work  his  worst, 

"  And  spin  his  flimsey  venom  till  he  burst ; 

"  Reptiles  beneath  the  holiest  shrine  may  dwell, 

"  And  toads  engender  in  the  purest  well. 

"  Genius  must  pay  its  tax  like  other  wares 
"  According  to  the  value  which  it  bears  ; 
**  On  sterling  worth  detraction's  stamp  is  laid, 
*'  As  gold  before  'tis  current  is  assay'd. 
"  Fame  is  a  debt  time  present  never  pays, 
"  But  leaves  it  on  the  score  to  future  days  ; 
*'  And  why  is  restitution  thus  deferred 
"  Of  long  arrears  from  year  to  year  incurr'd  ? 
^^  Why  to  posterity  this  labour  given 
"  To  search  out  frauds  and  set  defaulters  even  • 
*'  If  our  sons  hear  our  praise  'tis  well,  and  yet 
*•  Praise  in  the  father's  ear  had  sounded  sweets 

"  Still  there  is  one  exception  we  must  own, 
*'  Whom  all  conspire  to  praise,  and  one  alone  ; 
"  One  on  whose  living  brow  we  plant  the  wreath, 
"  And  almost  deify  on  this  side  death  : 
*'  He  in  the  plaudits  of  the  present  age 
''  Already  reads  his  own  historic  page, 
"  And,  though  preeminence  is  under  heav'n 
"  The  last  of  crimes  by  man  to  be  forgiv'n, 
*'  Justice  her  own  vice-gerent  will  defend, 
"  The  orphan's  father  and  the  widow's  friend  ; 
"  Truth,  virtue,  genius  mingle  beams  so  bright, 
"  Envy  is  dazzl'd  with  excess  of  light : 
"  Detraction's  tongue  scarce  stammers  out  a  fault, 
"  And  faction  blushes  for  its  own  assault. 
"  His  is  the  happy  gift,  the  nameless  grace, 
"  That  shapes  and  fits  the  man  to  every  place, 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  203 

^'  The  gay  companion  at  the  social  board, 

"  The  guide  of  councils,  or  the  senate's  lord, 

"  Now  regulates  the  law's  discordant  strife, 

"  Now  balances  the  scale  of  death  or  life, 

"  Sees  guilt  engendering  in  the  human  heart, 

*«  And  strips  from  falsehood's  face' the  mask  of  arts 

"  Whether,  assembled  with  the  wise  and  great, 

"  He  stands  the  pride  and  pillar  of  the  state, 

<^  With  well-weigh'd  argument  distinct  and  clear 

.  "  Confirms  the  judgment  and  delights  the  ear, 

*  "  Or  in  the  festive  circle  deigns  to  sit 

"  Attempering  wisdom  with  the  charms  of  wit-* 

"  Blest  talent,  form'd  to  profit  and  to  please, 

"  To  clothe  Instruction  in  the  garb  of  Ease, 

**  Sublime  to  rise,  or  graceful  to  descend, 

"  Now  save  an  empire  and  now  cheer  a  friend. 

"  More  I  could  add,  but  you  perhaps  complain, 
<^  And  call  it  mere  creation  of  the  brain  ; 
"  Poets  you  say  will  flatter — true,  they  will ; 
"  But  I  nor  inclination  have  nor  skill — > 
*'  Where  is  your  model,  you  will  ask  me,  where  ? 
"  Search  your  own  breast,  my  Lord,  you'll  find  it  there." 

It  is  in  this  period  of  my  life's  history,  that  by  accepting  a 

commission,  which  took  me  into  Spain,  I  was  subjected  to 

events,  that  have  very  strongly  contrasted  and  changed  the 

complexion  of  my  latter  days  from  that  of  the  preceding 

I  ones. 

[  I  will  relate  no  other  circumstances  of  this  negociation 
[  than  I  am  in  honour  and  strict  conscience  warranted  to  make 
i  public.  P'or  more  than  twenty  years  I  have  been  silent, 
|,  making  no  appeals  at  any  time  but  to  my  official  employers, 
I  who  were  pledged  to  do  me  justice.  What  I  gained  by 
I  those  appeals,  and  how  far  that  justice  was  administered  to 
me,  will  appear  from  the  detail,  which  I  am  now  about  to 
I  give  ;  and  though  I  hope  to  render  this  narrative  not  unen- 
!  tertaining  to  my  readers,  yet  I  do  most  faithfully  assure  them 
t  that  no  tittle  of  the  truth  shall  be  sacrificed  to  description, 
I  being  resolved  to  give  no  colour  to  facts  and  events,  but  such 
I  as  they  can  strictly  bear,  nor  ever  knowingly  permit  a  word 
I  to  stand  in  these  pages  inconsistent  with  that  veracity,  to 
I  which  I  am  so  solemnly  engaged. 


204  MEMOIRS  OF 


I 


In  the  year  1780,  and  about  the  time  of  Rodney^s  capture 
of  the  Caracca  fleet,  I  had  opportunities  of  discovering 
through  a  secret  channel  of  intelligence  mtaiy  things  pass- 
ing, and  some  concerting,  between  the  confidential  agents 
of  France  and  Spain,  (particularly  the  latter)  resident  in  this 
country,  and  in  private  correspondence  with  the  enemies  of 
it.  Of  these  communications  I  made  that  use,  which  my 
duty  dictated,  and  to  my  judgment  seemed  adviseable.  By 
these,  in  the  course  of  their  progress,  a  prospect  was  open- 
ed of  a  secret  negociation  with  the  Minister  Florida  Blanca, 
to  which  I  was  personally  committed,  and  of  course  could 
not  decline  the  undertaking  it.  My  destination  was  to  repair 
to  the  neutral  port  of  Lisbon,  there  to  abide  whilst  the  Abbe 
Hussey,  chaplain  to  his  Catholic  Majesty,  proceeded  to 
Aranjuez,  and  by  the  advice,  which  he  should  send  me,  I 
was  to  be  governed  in  the  alterneitive  of  either  going  into 
Spain  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  my  instructions  into  exe- 
cution, or  of  retunii^:>g  home  by  the  same  ship  that  conveyed 
me  thither,  which  was  ordered  to  wait  my  determination  for 
the  space  of  three  weeks,  Uxiless  dismissed  or  employed  by 
me  within  that  period. 

I  was  to  take  my  wife  and  two  daughters  Elizabeth  and 
Sophia  with  me  on  the  pretence  of  travelling  into  Italy  upon 
a  passport  through  the  Spanish  dominions,  and  having  re- 
ceived my  instructions  and  letters  of  accreditation  from  the 
Earl  of  Hillsborough,  Secretary  of  State,  on  the  1 7th  day 
of  April,  1780,  I  took  my  departure  for  Portsmouth,  there 
tx>  embark  on  board  his  majesty's  frigate  Miiford,  which  I 
had  particularly  asked  for,  as  knowing  her  character  to  be 
that  of  a  remarkable  swift  sailer.  On  my  arrival  at  Ports- 
mouth I  found  she  had  gone  out  upon  a  short  cruize  after  a 
French  privateer,  but  v/as  expected  every  hour.  On  the 
2 1st  she  came  in  from  her  cruize,  and  I  delivered  to  her 
Captain  Sir  William  Burnaby  two  letters  from  the  Admiral- 
ty, one  directing  him  to  receive  me  and  my  family  onboard, 
the  other  to  be  opened  when  he  came  off  the  Start -point. 

This  frigate  being  from  long  and  constant  service  in  a  weak 
and  leaky  state,  on  which  account  Sir  William  had  lately 
brought  her  into  port,  and  undergone  a  court  martial  in  con- 
sequence of  it,  I  found  him  and  his  officers  under  some  alanii 
as  to  the  unknovvn  extent  of  my  destination,-  suspecting  that 
I  might  be  bound  to  tlie  West  Indies,  and  justly  doubting 
the  sea-v,- or  thine  ss  of  the  ship  for  any  distant  voyage.     On 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  205 

this  point  I  could  give  them  no  satisfaction,  but  on  the  day 
following  her  arrival,  (viz.  April  22d)  went  on  board  to  as- 
sist in  adjusting  the  accommodations  for  the  females  of  my 
family. 

In  consequence  of  strong  and  adverse  winds  we  remained 
at  Spithead  till  the  28th,  when  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing we  weighed  anchor  with  the  wind  at  south,  and  brought 
to  at  Cowes.  Here  I  fixed  three  double-headed  shot  to  the 
box,  that  contained  my  papers  and  instructions,  and  the 
wind  still  hanging  in  the  south-west,  foul  and  unfavourable, 
it  was  not  till  the  2d  of  May,  when  upon  its  veering  to  the 
north-east  we  took  our  departure  in  the  forenoon  from  Cbwes, 
and  upon  its  dying  away  anchored  in  mid-channel  for  the 
night  in  20  fathom  water,  Needle-rocks  S.  W.  by  W.  Yar- 
mouth S.  E.  by  S. 

Being  off  the  Start- point  on  the  3d  instant  Sir  William 
Burnaby  opened  his  orders,  and  with  great  satisfaction  found 
his  destination  to  be  to  Lisbon  ;  we  saw  a  large  fleet  to  west- 
ward at  the  Start-point,  which  proved  to  be  the  Quebec  trade 
outward-bound  under  convoy.  On  the  6th  having  passed 
the  Land's-end,  we  found  the  fore-mast  sprung  below  the 
trussel  trees,  and  by  the  next  day  the  carpenter  had  mould- 
ed a  fish  on  it,  v/hen  the  gale  having  freshened  with  rain  and 
squalls,  we  struck  top-gallants,  handed  the  fore-sail,  and 
hove  to  under  the  main-sail ;  on  the  9th  the  gale  increased, 
and  having  reefed  and  furled  the  main-sail,  we  laid  to  under 
the  main-stay -sail  and  mizen-stay-sail :  Lat.  49  4  ;  Long. 
1  45.  Land's-end. 

Our  situation  now  became  very  uncomfortable,  and  our 
safety  suspicious,  for  the  sea  was  truly  mountainous,  and 
broke  over  our  low  and  leaky  frigate  in  a  tremendous 
style,  which  in  the  meanwhile  occasionally  received  such 
hard  and  heavy  shocks,  as  caused  serious  apprehensions 
even  in  those  to  whom  danger  was  familiar.  I  had  in  my 
passages  to  Ireland  been  in  angry  seas  and  blowing  weather, 
but  nothing  I  had  seen  bore  any  resemblance  to  the  fury  of 
this  gale,  nor  could  any  tiling  but  the  confidence  I  had  rea- 
son to  place  in  British  seamen,  and  the  exertions,  which  I 
witnessed  on  their  part,  have  stood  between  me  and  absolute 
despair.  The  dreadful  sight  and  deafening  uproar  of  those 
tremendous  seas,  that  by  turns  whelmed  us  under  a  canopy 
of  water,  ra akin g  darkness  at  mid-day,  and  rendering  every 
voice  inaudible,  vrere  as  much  as  my  nerves  could  bear,  and 

s 


206  MEMOIRS  OF 

whilst  the  ship  was  quivering  and  settling,  as  I  conceived, 
upon  the  point  of  going  down,  I  thought  it  high  time  to  set 
out  in  search  of  those  beloved  objects,  who  had  embarked 
themselves  with  me,  and  were  as  I  supposed  suffering  the 
extreme  of  terror  and  alarm.  How  greatly  was  I  mistaken 
in  the  calculation  of  their  fortitude  !  I  found  my  wife,  then 
flir  gone  with  child,  in  her  cot  within  the  cabin,  the  water 
flowing  through  it  like  a  sluice,  so  perfectly  collected  and 
composed,  that  I  forbore  to  speak  of  the  situation  we  were 
in,  and  did  not  hint  at  the  purpose  which  brought  me  to 
hof  ;  but  she,  who  knew  too  well  what  was  passing  to  be  de- 
ceived as  to  the  motive  of  my  coming  to  her,  said  to  me— « 
"  You  are  alarmed  I  believe  ;  so  am  not  I.  We  are  in  a 
British  ship  of  war,  manned  with  British  seamen,  and,  if  we 
are  in  danger,  which  I  conclude  we  are,  I  don't  doubt  but 
they  know  how  to  carry  us  through  it."  Thus  divested  of 
my  alarm  by  the  intrepidity  of  the  very  person,  who  had  so 
great  a  share  in  causing  it,  I  made  my  way  with  some  diffi- 
culty to  the  ward-room,  where  my  daughters  had  taken 
shelter,  whilst  Mr.  Lucas  the  purser  was  serenading  them 
with  v/hat  would  have  been  a  country  dance,  if  the  ship  had 
not  danced  so  violently  out  of  all  time  and  tune.  In  this  • 
moment  the  Abbe  Hussey,  who  had  followed  me,  upon  aj| 
sudden  pitch  of  the  ship  burst  head  foremost  into  the  ward-  "* 
room,  and  with  the  momentum  of  a  gun  groken  loose  from 
its  lashings  overturned  poor  Lucas,  demolishing  his  violin, 
the  table,  and  every  thing  frangibi^.  that  his  colossal  figure 
came  in  contact  with. 

Such  was  our  situation  on  the  9th  of  May,  and  when  upon 
the  morning  following  the  gale  moderated  we  set  the  mizen 
and  fore-top-mast  stay-sail,  and  swaying  the  top-gallant- 
mast  up,  set  main-sail  and  fore -sail,  working  the  pumps  to 
keep  the  ship  free,  whilst  the  sea  ran  very  lofty  with  a  heavy 
swell.  This  was  the  last  time  the  Milford  frigate  ever  went 
to  sea,  for  by  the  time  we  anchored  at  the  Tagus  her  main- 
deck  exhibited  suflRcient  proofs  how  completely  she  was 
broken-backed  by  straining  in  tiie  gale. 

I  will  here  relate  an  incident  no  otherwise  interesting  or 
curious  but  as  a  mere  matter  of  chance,  which  tends  in  some 
degree  to  shew  the  credulity  of  our  seu-f^tring  countrymen. 
I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  wearing  in  my  pocket  a  broad 
silver  piece  given  to  me  as  a  keeji-sake  by  my  son  George, 
who  received  his  death  at  the  siege  of  Charlestov/n  in  South- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  20r 

Carolina  the  very  clay  after  he  had  taken  cominand  of  an 
armed  vessel  to  which  he  was  appointed.  This  piece  had 
been  beaten  out  from  a  dollar  by  a  marine  belongini^  to  the 
Miiford,  then  on  the  American  station,  and  presented  by  him 
to  my  son  then  a  midshipman  serving  on  board :  on  this 
piece  the  artist  had  engraved  the  Miiford  in  full  sail,  and  on 
the  reverse  my  coat  of  arms,  and  upon  my  discoveritig  that 
this  same  ingenious  marine,  now  become  a  serjeant,  was  on 
the  quarter-deck  with  me,  I  had  been  talking  vrith  him  upon 
the  incident,  and  shewing  him  that  I  had  carefully  preserved 
his  present,  which  to  this  hour  I  have  done,  and  am  now 
wearing  it  in  my  pocket.  This  man,  though  a  brave  and  or- 
derly soldier,  had  so  completely  yielded  himself  up  to  a  kind 
of  religious  enthusiasm  as  to  be  plunged  in  the  profoundest 
apathy  and  indifference  towards  life  ;  still  he  exhibited  on 
this  occasion  some  small  show  of  sensibility  at  the  sight  of 
his  own  work,  and  the  recollection  of  an  amiable  youth,  now 
untimely  lost.  The  wind  was  adverse  to  our  course,  our 
ship  still  labouring  in  a  heavy  sea,  whilst  strong  and  sudden 
squalls,  which  every  now  and  then  annoyed  us,  together 
with  the  incessant  labour  of  the  pumps,  denied  our  people 
that  repose  which  their  past  toils  demanded  :  in  tliis  gloomy 
moment  the  fancy  struck  me  to  make  trial  of  the  superstition, 
of  the  man  at  the  helm  by  laying  this  silver  piece  on  the  face 
of  the  compass,  as  a  charm  to  turn  the  wind  a  point  or  two 
in  our  favour,  which  I  boldly  promised  it  would  do.  I  found 
my  gallant  shipmate  eagerly  disposed  to  confide  in  the  ex- 
periment, which  he  put  out  of  all  doubt  by  clinching  his  be- 
lief in  it  with  a  deposition  upon  oath,  quite  sufficient  to  con- 
vince me  of  his  sincerity,  and  something  more  than  neces- 
sary for  the  occasion.  Accordingly  I  laid  my  charm  upon 
the  glass  of  the  compass  with  all  the  solemnity  I  could  as- 
sume, whilst  my  friend  kept  his  eyes  alternately  employed 
upon  that  and  the  dog-vane,  till  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  se- 
cond oath,  much  more  ornamented  and  embroidered  than 
the  former,  he  announced  to  the  conviction  of  all  present  a 
considerable  shift  of  wind  in  our  favour.  Credulity  nov/  be- 
gan to  circulate  most  rapidly  through  the  ship  ;  even  the  of- 
ficers seemed  to  have  caught  some  touches  of  its  influence, 
and  my  friend  the  meditative  serjeant  raised  his  eyes  with 
some  astonishment  from  his  book,  where  they  had  been  riv- 
eted to  a  few  dirty  pages  loose  and  torn,  as  it  seemed,  out  of 
Sherlock's  volume  upon  death.     My  first  prediction  having 


:08  MEMOIRS  OF 


1 


iiucceeded  so  luckily,  I  boldly  promised  them  a  prize  in  view, 
and  whimsical  as  the  incident  is,  yet  it  so  chanced  that  in  a 
very  short  time  the  man  at  the  mast-head  sung  out  two 
ships  bearing  north  standing  to  the  southward  ;  this  happen- 
ed at  one  o'clock  ;  at  half  an  hour  past  the  sternmost  tacked 
and  made  sail  to  the  northward ;  we  found  our  ship  gaining 
fast  upon  her,  and  at  four  hoisted  Dutch  colours  ;  at  three 
quarters  after  hoisted  St.  George's  ensign,  and  fired  a  shot 
at  her  ;  at  five  she  hoisted  French  colours  and  fired  a  broad- 
side into  us,  emd  at  six  she  struck,  and  proved  to  be  the  Due 
de  Coigny  private  frigate  of  28  guns,  Mignionet  commander, 
belonging  to  Granville  ;  this- gallant  Frenchman  had  scarce- 
ly pronounced  his  anathema  against  the  man  who  should  of- 
fer to  strike  his  colours,  when  his  head  was  blown  to  atoms 
by  one  of  our  cannon  bails :  the  prize  lost  her  second  cap- 
tain also,  and  had  fifty  of  her  men  killed  and  wounded  :  we 
had  two  seamen  and  one  marine  killed,  and  four  seamen  and 
one  marine  wounded. 

This  was  a  new  and  striking  spectacle  to  a  landsman  like 
me,  and  though  I  am  dwelling  on  an  mcident  which  to  a  na- 
val reader  may  seem  trifling,  yet  as  it  was  my  good  fortune 
to  be  present  at  an  animating  scene,  which  does  not  occur 
to  every  man,  who  occasionally  passes  the  seas  in  my  situa* 
tion,  I  presume  I  am  excusable  for  my  description  of  it. 

When  I  witnessed  the  dispatch  with  which  a  ship  is  clear- 
ed for  action,  the  silence  and  good  order  so  strictly  observ- 
ed, and  the  commands  so  distinctly  given  upon  going  into 
action,  I  was  impressed  with  the  greatest  respect  for  the 
discipline  and  precision  observed  on  board  our  ships  of  war. 
Such  coolness  and  preparatory  arrangement  seemed  to  me 
a  security  for  success  and  conquest.  Our  spirited  purser 
Mr.  Lucas  performed  better  with  his  musket  than  his  vio- 
lin, and  whilst  standing  by  him  on  the  quarter  deck  I  plain- 
ly saw  him  pick  off  a  French  officer  in  a  green  coat,  whom 
he  jocularly  called  the  parrot,  the  last  of  three  whom  he 
had  dismissed  to  their  watery  graves.  My  melancholy  friend 
the  engraver  had  his  arm  shattered  by  the  first  fire  of.  the 
enemy,  which  he  received  with  the  most  stoical  indifference, 
and  would  not  be  persuaded  to  leave  the  quarter  deck  till 
the  action  was  over,  when  going  down  to  be  dressed  as  my 
eldest  daughter  (now  Lady  Edward  Bentick)  was  coming  up 
from  below  he  gallantly  presented  that  very  arm  to  assist 
her,  and  when,  observing  him  shrink  upon  her  touching  it. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND,  209 

she  said  to  him — '^  Serjeant,  lam  afraid  you  are  wounded," 
he  calmly  replied — "  To  be  sure  I  am  Madam,  else  I  should 
''  not  have  been  so  bold  to  have  crossed  you  on  the  stairr> — " 
This  was  a  strain  of  chivalry  worthy  of  the  days  of  old,  and 
something  more  than  Tom  Jones'  gallantry  to  Sophia  Wes- 
tern, who  only  offered  her  his  serviceable  arm,  and  kept  the 
broken  one  unemployed.  One  other  incident,  though  of  a 
very  different  sort,  occurred  as  I  was  handing  her  along  the 
main-deck  from  the  bread  room,  when  slipping  in  the  blood 
and  brains  of  a  poor  fellow,  who  laid  dead  beside  his  gun,  an 
insensible  brat  who  was  boasting  and  rejoicing  at  his  own  es- 
cape, cried  out — ''  Have  a  care.  Miss,  how  you  tread.  Look 
"  at  this  fellow  ;  I  stood  close  by  him  when  he  got  this  knock  : 
"  the  shot  went  clear  over  me,  and  this  damn'd  fool  put  his 
"  head  in  the  way  of  it.    Was'nt  tliat  a  droll  affair  ? — " 

The  shifting  the  prisoners  v/as  a  task  of  danger,  as  the  sea 
ran  very  high,  and  they  were  beastly  drunk.  In  this  our 
people  were  employed  all  night :  when  they  had  refitted  the 
rigging  shot  away  in  the  action,  and  hoisted  in  the  boats,  we 
made  sail  with  the  prize  in  company.  The  carpenters  were 
employed  in  repairing  the  boats,  which  were  stove  in  shifting 
the  prisoners,  of  which  we  took  on  board  155  French  and 
Americans:  Lat.  49  6.  Long.  1  45. 

Our  surgeon  and  his  assistants  being  exhausted  with  their 
duty  on  board  both  ships,  my  anxiety  kept  me  sleepless 
through  a  turbulent  night,  and  I  went  about  the  ship  to  the 
wounded  men,  one  of  whom  (James  Eaton  by  name)  a  quar- 
ter-master and  one  of  the  finest  fellows  I  ever  saw,  expired 
as  I  stood  by  him  without  any  external  hurt,  having  been 
struck  in  the  side  by  a  splinter.  I  read  the  burial  service 
over  him  the  next  morning,  whilst  Abbe  Hussey  performed 
that  office  for  the  other  two,  who  were  Irish  and  of  his  com- 
munion. 

On  the  1 1th  we  took  the  prize  in  tow  ;  we  had  fresh  bree-- 
zes  with  dark  cloudy  weather,  and  at  midnight  we  wore  ship, 
and  in  veering  having  broken  the  hawser  we  shortened  sail 
for  the  prize,  but  soon  after  made  signal  for  her  to  stand 
about  and  go  into  port,  which  she  safely  effected.  In  the 
course  of  this  day  1  wrote  a  song  for  my  amusement  descrip- 
tive of  our  action,  and  adapted  it  to  the  tune  of — 

Whilst  here  at  Deal  we're  lyings  boys^ 
With  the  noble  Commodore-^-^ 


210  MEMOIRS  OF 

Our  crew  were  very  musically  inclined,  and  we  had  some 
passably  good  singers  amongst  them,  which  suggested  to  me 
the  idea  of  writing  this  sea-song  ;  we  frequently  sung  it  at 
Lisbon  in  lusty  chorus,  but  their  delicacy  would  not  allow 
them  to  let  it  be  once  heard  till  their  prisoners  were  remo- 
ved ;  and  this  was  the  answer  made  to  me  by  a  common  sea- 
man, when  I  asked  why  they  w^ould  not  sing  it  during  the 
voyage  :  an  objection,  which  had  escaped  me,  but  which  I 
felt  the  full  force  of,  when  stated  to  me  by  him. 

The  song  was  as  follows,  and  the  circumstances,  under 
which  it  was  hastily  written,  must  be  my  apology  for  insert- 
ing it 

"  Twas  up  the  wind  three  leagues  or  more 

"  We  spied  a  lofty  sail ; 
"  Set  your  top-gallant  sails,  my  boys, 

*'  And  closely  hug  the  gale. 

"  Nine  knots  tlie  nimble  Milford  ran, 

"  Thus,  thus,  the  master  cried  ; 
"  Hull  up  Vvx  brought  the  chace  in  view, 

"  And  soon  were  side  by  side. 

"  Dowse  your  Dutch  ensign,  up  Saint  George  ! 

"  To  quarters  now  all  hands  ; 
"  With  lighted  match  beside  his  gun 

"  Each  British  hero  stands. 

"  Give  lire  our  gallant  captain  cries, 

"  Tis  done,  the  cannons  roar  ; 
"  Stand  clear,  Mounseers,  digest  these  pills, 

"  And  soon  we'll  send  you  more." 

"  Our  chain-shot  whistles  in  the  v/ind 

"  Our  grape  descends  like  hail— 
"  Hurrah,  my  souls  !  three  cheering  shouts, 

"  French  hearts  begin  to  quail 

"  Rak'd  fore  and  aft  her  shattered  hull 

^'  Lets  in  the  briny  flood, 
"  Her  decks  are  carnag'd  with  the  slain, 

"  Her  scuppers  stream  with  blood. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  1 1 1 

^<  Her  French  jack  shivers  in  the  wind, 

"  Its  lilies  ail  look  pale  ; 
"  Down  it  must  come,  it  must  comedown, 

"  For  Britons  will  prevail. 

"  And  see  !  'tis  done  :  she  strikes,  she  yields  ; 

"  Down  haughty  flag  of  France  ; 
"  Nov/  board  her,  boys,  and  on  her  staff 

"  The  English  cross  advance  ! 

"  There,  there  triumphantly  it  flies, 

"  It  conquers  and  it  saves — 
"  So  gaily  toss  the  can  about, 

"  For  Britons  rule  the  waves." 

During  the  12th,  13th,  and  14th,  we  had  fresh  gales  and 
squally,  till  on  the  night  of  the  latter,  being  then  in  Lat. 
44  2.  Long.  3  16.  we  had  light  airs  and  fair  weather,  when 
descrying  a  frigate  under  English  colours  to  the  southward, 
standing  to  the  northward,  we  cleared  ship  for  action,  but 
soon  after  lost  sight  of  her.  The  next  day,  viz.  the  1 5th, 
we  saw  a  fleet  of  the  enemy  to  the  southv/ard  standing  to 
the  westward,  forty-five  m  number,  of  which  were  eight  sail 
of  the  line  and  three  or  four  frigates.  They  proved  to  be 
the  French  squadron  under  the  command  of  Toumay,  and 
having  brought  to  on  the  starboard  tack  dispatched  a  line  of 
battle  ship  in  chace  of  us  ;  coming  down  in  a  slanting  course 
she  appeared  at  first  to  gain  upon  \is,  till  at  half  past  eight 
in  the  evening,  (our  rate  being  then  better  than  at  twelve 
knots)  she  left  off  chace,  having  given  us  her  louver  guns, 
whilst  the  prisoners,  expecting  us  to  be  captured,  became 
so  unruly,  that  our  men  were  obliged  to  drive  them  down 
_with  the  hand-spikes. 

On  the  1 6th  we  brought  to  and  took  a  Portuguese  pilot  on 
board,  passed  the  Burlings,  and  the  next  day  at  six  in  the 
evening  anchored  with  the  best  bower  in  eight  fathom  water, 
Belem  Castle  N.  E.  Abbe  Hussey  and  I  with  the  second 
lieutenant  landed  at  the  castle,  and  at  eight  at  night  we  ob- 
tained pratique.  We  found  riding  here  his  majesty's  ship 
Romuey,  Captain  Home,  with  the  Cormorant  sloop,  Cap- 
tain John  Payne,  under  the  command  of  Commodore  John- 
stone. 


212  MEMOIRS  OF 

One  of  my  first  employments  was  to  purchase  a  large 
stock  of  oranges  for  the  refreshment  of  the  ship's  company, 
especially  the  wounded,  and  of  these  my  friend  the  serjeant 
condescended  to  partake,  though  he  had  been  so  extremely 
occupied  with  his  meditations  upon  death,  as  hardly  to  be  i 
persuaded  to  let  his  arm  be  dressed,  answering  all  the  kind 
enquiries  of  his  comrades  in  the  most  sullen  and  oftentimes] 
abusive  terms — "  They  were  wicked  wretches  and  deserved 
*'  damnation  for  presuming  to  condole  with  him.  It  was 
"  God's  good  pleasure  to  exercise  his  spirit  with  pain,  and 
"  he  had  supreme  satisfaction  in  bearing  it.  What  busi- 
"  ness  was  it  of  their's  to  be  troubling  him  with  their  im- 
♦^  pertinent  inquiries  ?" — This  was  in  the  style  of  his  civil- 
est  replies  ;  to  some  his  answers  were  very  short  and  ex- 
tremely gross. 

The  day  after  our  arrival  we  weighed  and  dropt  farther 
\ip  the  river  ;  at  night  we  discharged  the  prisoners,  and  the 
commodore  visited  us  in  his  barge.  Mr.  Hussey  prepared 
for  his  journey  into  Spain,  and  I  provided  apartments  for, 
my  family  at  Mrs.  Duer's  hotel  at  Buenos  Ayres.  The  next 
day  the  commodore  entertained  us  at  Belem,  and  the  day, 
ensuing  he,  with  Captains  Home  and  Payne,  dined  with  us 
on  board.  ^ 

My  orders  were  to  Vfsdt  at  Lisbon  till  Mr.  Hussey  wrote 
to  me  from  Aranjuez,  and  according  to  the  tenor  of  his  re- 
port I  was  to  use  my  discretion  as  to  proceeding  onwards,  of* 
returning  home  ;  and  this  being  a  point  decisive  as  to  my 
credit  or  discredit  in  the  management  of  the  business  I  was 
entrusted  with,  I  was  most  urgent  and  precise  with  Mr.' 
Hussey  in  conjuring  him  to  be  extremely  careful  and  correct 
in  his  report,  by  which  I  was  to  guide  myself,  and  this  he 
solemnly  promised  me  that  he  Avould  observe.  On  the  1 9th 
and  20th  I  prepared  my  dispatches,  and  on  the  2 1st  deliver- 
ed them  to  the  pacquet  master,  who  took  his  departure  that 
very  day. 

In  the  mean  time  I  understood  from  Mr.  Hussey,  that  in 
ap'piymg  to  the  Spanish  ambassador  Count  Fernan  Nunez 
for  his  passport,  he  had  committed  himself  to  a  conversa- 
tion, from  which  he  drew  very  promising  expectations  ;  of 
this  I  informed  my  proper  minister  Lord  Hillsborough,  as 
will  i^ppear  by  the  following  extract  of  my  letter  dated  the 
19th  of  May  1780, 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  213 

**  My  Lord, 

"  When  Mr.  Hussey  waited  on  Count  Feman  Nu- 
nez yesterday  for  his  passport,  he  would  have  made  his 
commission  for  the  exchange  of  prisoners  the  pretence  for 
his  journey  into  Spain,  but  the  ambassador  gave  him  plainly 
to  understand  he  was  confidential  with  Count  Florida  Blan- 
ca  in  the  business  upon  which  we  are  come.  This  being 
the  case,  Mr.  Hussey  thought  it  by  no  means  necessary  to 
decline  a  conversation  with  the  ambassador  under  proper 
reserve.  He  was  soon  told  that  his  arrival  was  anxiously 
expected  at  Aranjuez.  No  expression  of  good  will  to  him, 
to  me,  and  to  the  commission  I  am  entrusted  with,  w^as 
omitted.  It  was  proposed  by  the  ambassador  to  pay  me  the 
honour  of  a  visit,  if  acceptable,  in  any  way  I  liked  best ;  but 
this  Mr.  Hussey  without  referring  to  me  very  properly  and 
readily  prevented. 

"  He  entered  into  many  pertinent  inquiries  as  to  the 
state  of  the  ministry,  and  the  manner  in  which  Lord  North 
had  been  pressed  in  the  House  of  Commons;  he  would 
have  stirred  the  question  of  an  accommodation  with  France, 
but  was  plainly  answered  by  Mr.  Hussey  that  he  had  no 
one  word  to  say  upon  that  subject ;  the  channel  was  open, 
he  observed,  but  ours  was  nottfii?.t  chc^l"IV'€'!— ** 
^  "  The  conversation  then  closed  with  such  assurances  of  a 
sincere  pacific  disposition  on  the  part  of  Spain,  that  if  Count 
Fernan  Nunez  reports  fViriy,  and  is  not  imposed  on,  our  bu- 
siness seeais  to  be  in  an  auspicious  train — ***'' 

My  gratitude  to  Sir  William  Burnaby  and  his  officers  in- 
duced me  to  address  tr-e  foilov/ing  letter  and  request  to 
Lord  Hillsborough,  which  I  made  separate,  and  sent  under 
cover  of  the  same  dispatch. 

«  To  the  Earl  of  Hillsborough. 

"  May  the  20th,  1  7  80 
«  My  Lord,  «  Miiford  frigate  off'Belem. 

"  I  cannot  let  this  opportunity  go  by  without  ex- 
pressing to  your  Lordship,  and  through  you  to  Lord  Sand- 
wich, my  most  thankful  acknowledgments  for  indulging  my 
wishes  by  putting  me  on  board  the  Miiford  under  tiie  care 
and  command  of  Sir  William  Burnaby,  whose  unremitted 
kindness  and  attention  to  me  and  my  family  I  can  neither 
duly  relate  or  repay.     Throughout  a  long  and  an  eventful 


214  MEMOIRS  OF 

passage,  whether  we  were  struggling  with  a  gale,  or  clear- 
ing ship  for  action,  both  he  and  his  officers  uniformly  con-| 
ducted  themselves  v/ith  that  harmony,  temper,  and  preci* 
sion,  as  seemed  to  put  them  in  assured  possession  of  suc- 
cess ;  the  men  themselves  have  been  so  long  attached  to 
their  officers,  and  all  of  them  to  the  ship  itself,  that  the  se- 
verest duty  is  here  directed  without  an  oath,  and  obeyed 
without  a  murmur.  Though  we  have  been  encumbered 
with  such  a  crowd  of  prisoners,  many  of  whom  seemed  to 
possess  the  spirit  of  mutiny  in  full  force,  our  discipline  has 
kept  all  in  perfect  quiet,  and  such  humane  attention  has 
been  paid  to  their  health,  that  not  a  single  prisoner  has  sick- 
ened or  complained. 

"  I  take  the  liberty  of  intruding  upon  your  lordship  with 
these  particulai-s  to  introduce  a  suit  to  you,  which  I  have 
most  anxiously  at  heart,  and  in  which  I  am  joined  with 
equal  anxiety  by  my  friend  Mr.  Hussey  :  it  is,  my  lord,  to 
beseech  you  to  promote  the  application  made  by  Sir  Wil- 
liam Burnaby  to  Lord  Sandwich  in  behalf  of  his  first  lieute- 
nant Mr.  William  Grosvenor  to  be  made  master  and  com- 
mander ;  an  officer  of  ten  years  standing,  well  known  in  the 
navy,  and  distinguished  for  activity,  sobriety,  and  profes- 
sional skill  and  ability  ;  he  went  round  the  world  with  Ad- 
tniral  Byron,  and  is  highly  respected  by  him  ;  he  has  been 
in  this  ship  during  the  whole  war,  and  assisted  in  the  cap- 
ture of  near  fourscore  prizes,  by  which  he  has  acquired  very 
little  more  than  the  approbation  of  his  captains,  and  the 
love  and  reverence  of  the  men. 

"  Had  our  prize  been  a  king's  ship  Mr.  Grosvenor  would 
have  come  home  in  her,  and  his  promotion  would  most 
probably  have  followed  in  train ;  however,  as  she  is  a  very 
fine  new  frigate,  and  will  I  dare  say  be  reported  fit  for  the 
king's  use,  the  opportunity  is  judged  favourable  for  recom- 
mending Mr.  Grosvenor's  pretensions,  and  as  the  Milford 
may  be  said  to  be  now  acting  under  your  Lordship's  orders, 
I  flatter  myself  you  will  take  her  under  your  protection  by 
granting  your  good  offices  with  Lord  Sandwich  in  Mr.  Gros- 
venor's  behalf;  an  obligation  that  I  shall  ever  gratefully 
carry  in  remembrance 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  &c. 

R.  C. 

This  letter  produced  no  advantage  to  Mr.  Grosvenor,  nor 
any  other  gratification  to  me  except  the  recollection  that  I 
had  done  my  best  to  serve  a  meritorious  officer. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  2l6 

At  Buenos  Ayres  I  was  visited  by  our  minister  Mr.  Wal- 
pole,  Commodore  Johnstone,  Sir  John  Hort  the  consul,  Cap- 
tain Payne  and  several  gentlemen  of  the  factory.  On  the 
25  th  instant  the  ceremony  of  the  Corpus  Christi  took  place 
in  a  day  excessively  sultry,  when  the  king  and  prince  walked 
with  the  patriarch  of  Lisbon,  the  religious  orders,  knights  of 
Christ  and  nobility  of  Portugal,  in  procession  through  the 
streets,  of  which  even  the  ruins  were  decorated  with  rich  ta- 
pestries, silks  and  velvets,  forming  at  once  a  splendid  and  a 
melancholy  scene.  I  was  with  my  daughters  at  a  house,  from 
which  we  had  a  very  good  view  of  what  was  passing,  and 
as  they  presented  themselves  at  an  open  window  in  their 
English  dresses,  (and  I  may  add  without  vanity  in  all  their 
native  charms)  tney  most  evidently  arrested  the  attention  of 
the  holy  brotnerhood  in  a  manner,  that  by  no  means  harmo- 
nised with  the  soiemnity  of  their  office  ;  more  perfect  wolves 
in  sheep's  clotaing  never  were  beneld.  The  haughtiness 
and  ili-breeding  of  the  Portuguese  nobles  is  notorious  to  a 
proverb.  One  of  these,  the  son  of  the  minister  Ponibal, 
came  into  the  room  where  I  was  waituig  for  the  procession 
above  mentioned ;  turning  to  me  with  an  air  of  supercilious 
protection,  very  awkwardly  assumed,  and  making  a  motion 
with  his  hands  towards  a  chair^  he  was  pleased  to  tell  me 
that  /  might  sit  down — There  was  an  insolence  in  ti  e  man- 
ner of  it  irresistibly  provoking,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say 
my  answer  was  at  least  as  contemptuous  as  his  address  was 
insolent. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  30th  I  went  with  my  daugh- 
ters, and  some  of  our  naval  fi4ends  to  Cintra,  visithig-  the 
palace  of  Queluz  in  the  way  :  the  terrors  of  an  earthquake 
are  evidently  expressed  in  the  construction  of  this  palace, 
which  is  nothing  more  than  a  long  range  of  pavilions  in  the 
Moorish  character  very  ricnly  furnished  and  profusely  gilt ; 
the  heat  was  quite  oppressive,  but  tl  le  shady  walks  and  deli- 
cious odour  of  the  orange  groves,  the  refreshing  sight  of  the 
fountains  and  exquisite  beauty  of  tiie  flowers  in  high  bloom 
and  boundless  abundance  recompensed  all  we  suffered  by 
the  mid-day  violence  of  the  burning  sun.  In  the  romantic 
and  more  temperate  retreat  of  Cintra  we  enjoyed  the  most 
charming  and  enchanting  scenes  and  prospects  nature  can 
display.  The  rock,  the  cork  convent  and  tlie  ancient  palace 
of  Cintra  are  objects  that  surpass  description  ;  from  tue  lat- 
ter of  these  the  rock  ajid  town  of  Cintra,  with  ^l  the  countr}" 


216  MEMOIRS  OP 

about  it  as  far  as  to  the  palace  of  Mafra,  till  where  it  is  bound- 
ed by  the  sea,  form  a  most  superb  and  interesting  scene  ; 
the  interior  of  the  castle  is  unfurnished,  though  the  painted 
tiles,  gilded  ceilings  and  arrangement  of  the  apartments, 
opening  to  parterres,  cut  out  of  the  rock  in  stories  and  ter- 
races one  above  the  other,  is  singularly  grand  and  striking. 
In  one  of  the  great  chambers  the  ceiling  is  ornamented  with 
the  scutcheons  of  all  the  noble  families  of  Portugal  affixed  to 
the  necks  of  stags  of  no  ordinary  painting  or  design,  and, 
though  very  ancient,  their  remarkable  freshness  bespeaks 
the  extreme  softness  and  dryness  of  the  climate  ;  in  this 
collection  the  bearings  and  titles  of  the  noble  family  of  D'A- 
veiro  had  a  conspicuous  station,  from  which  they  are  now  dis- 
lodged and  their  very  name  expunged. 

On  our  return  to  Lisbon  we  passed  the  remarkable  aque- 
duct of  Alcantara  so  often  described,  and  on  the  5th  of  June 
at  early  morning  I  received  the  expected  dispatch  from  Mr. 
Hussey  with  letters  inclosed  for  the  Earl  of  Hillsborough 
and  Lord  George  Germain — His  letter  to  me  was  as  fol- 
lows— 

"  Aranjuez,  31st  May  1780. 
"  My  dear  friend, 

"  I  arrived  here  three  days  ago,  conversed  with 
"  the  minister  of  state  upon  the  subjectof  your  journey,  and 
"  do  find  that  the  delays  which  this  business  met  with,  and 
"  the  different  turn,  which  matters  have  taken,  render  this 
"  negociation  every  day  exceedingly  arduous  and  difficult. 
"  However  as  the  minister  is  so  very  desirous  of  finding 
"  some  means  to  bring  it  to  a  happy  conclusion,  and  as  you 
"  are  already  so  far  advanced  on  your  journey,  I  think  it  by 
"  all  means  advisable  that  you  come,  (giving  out  that  you 
"  mean  to  pass  through  Spain  for  the  benefit  of  your  health) 
"  and  so  give  the  negociation  a  fair  trial.  You  know  me  too 
^^  well  to  suspect  that  I  shall  be  v/anting  to  cultivate  the 
"  good  wishes  of  the  minister  of  state,  and  to  incline  him  to- 
"  wards  an  accommodation.  My  servant  Daly  carries  a 
*'  memorandum  of  the  road  and  the  different  places  where 
"  the  relays  of  carriages  are  to  meet  you. 

"  Do  not  forget  to  mention  to  Mrs.  Cumberland  and  the 
*'  young  ladies,  their's  and 

"  Your  affectionate  friend 

"  Thomas  Hussey. 

"  P.  S.  His  Catholic  majesty's  orders  are  gone  to  Bada«' 
"^  joz,  the  frontier  town,  not  to  examine  your  baggage—'^ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  217 

Embarrassed  by  this  letter,  and  doubtful  of  the  part  I 
ought  to  take,  I  obeyed  my  instructions  by  resorting  to  our 
minister  Mr.  Walpole,  and  delivered  to  him  a  letter  from 
Lord  Hillsborough,  the  contents  of  which  I  was  privy  to, 
and  by  which  I  was  directed  to  be  confidential  and  explicit 
with  him.  As  there  was  but  one  point,  upon  which  he  hesi- 
tated, and  which  I  had  good  reason  to  know  would  not  be 
made  a  stipulation  obstructive  to  my  measures,  I  was  dispos- 
ed according  to  Mr.  Hussey's  advice  to ^zVe  the  negociation  a 
trials,  though  his  letter  Avas  by  no  means  such  as  I  exacted 
from  him,  nor  so  explicit  as  to  give  me  a  safe  rule  to  goby. 
Nevertheless  upon  full  consideration  of  all  circumstan- 
ces, and  under  the  persuasion  that  delay,  (which  was  the 
utmost  that  Mr.  Walpole  suggested)  would  in  eifect  be  tan- 
tamount to  absolute  abandonment,  I  determined  for  the  jour- 
ney, and  gave  my  reasons  for  pursuing  the  advice  of  Mr, 
Hussey,  and  meeting  the  advances  of  the  Spanish  Minister, 
exemplified  by  his  preparations  for  receiving  me,  in  the 
following  dispatch,  which  I  transmitted  to  Lord  Hillsbo- 
rough by  Sir  William  Burnaby,  then  upon  his  departure 
for  England — 

"   To  the  Earl  of  Hillsborough:' 

"  Lisbon,  June  6th,   1780. 
«  My  Lord, 

''  In  my  letter  No.  1.  I  informed  your  lordship  of 
my  arrival  here  on  the  17th  of  last  month  at  six  in  the 
afternoon,  and  of  Mr.  Hussey's  departure  for  Aranjuez  on 
the  19th  following  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon.  I  have 
now  the  honour  of  transmitting  to  you  a  letter,  which  1  re- 
ceived yesterday  morning  by  express  from  Aranjuez,  ad- 
dressed to  your  lordship,  and  I  enclose  one  also,  which  I 
had  from  Mr.  Hussey  of  the  31st  of  last  month  by  the  same 
conveyance. 

"  The  letter  of  my  instructions  is  explicit  for  my  return- 
ing to  England,  or  advancing  to  Spain,  as  that  court  shall 
make  or  not  m.ake  the  cession  of  Gibraltar  the  basis  of  a 
negociation.  The  simple  resolution  of  this  question  formed 
the  whole  purport  of  Mr.  Hussey's  journey,  and  as  I  well 
know  it  was  clearly  understood  on  nis  part,  I  expected  a  re- 
ply in  the  same  style  of  precision  v.ith  these  instructions  : 
the  case  is  now  unexpectedly  become  exceedingly  embar- 

T 


218  MEMOIRS  OF 

rassing  and  delicate.  As  he  does  not  say  that  Spain  stipu- 
lates for  the  cession  aforesaid,  I  do  not  consider  myself  un- 
der orders  to  return ;  on  the  other  hand  as  he  does  not  tell 
me  that  she  will  treat  without  it,  I  am  doubtful  whether  I 
am  warranted  to  advance.  He  says  the  minister  zs  very  de- 
sirous  of  finding  means  of  bringing  things  to  a  hapfiy  conclu^ 
sionj  and  I  have  not  only  his  authority,  but  good  grounds 
from  private  information,  to  give  credit  to  his  assertion  :  I 
am  also  furnished  with  the  necessary  passports  from  the 
minister  of  Spain  and  from  her  ambassador  at  this  court.  It 
remains  therefore  a  question  with  me,  and  a  very  difficult 
one  I  feel  it,  whether  I  should  wait  at  Lisbon  and  require 
further  explanation,  or  proceed  without  it. 

"  If  I  take  the  first  part  of  this  alternative,  I  must  expecl 
it  will  create  offence  to  the  punctilio  of  the  Spanish  court  wli 
have  given  me  their  passport  for  myself  and  family,  have 
not  only  provided  me  with  every  convenience  of  coaches  and 
relays  through  Spain,  but  have  directed  their  ambassador 
here  to  give  me  every  furtherance  from  hence,  that  can  ac- 
commodate me  to  Badajoz,  and  I  have  this  day  received 
Count  Fernan  Nunez's  passport  with  a  letter  of  recommen- 
dation to  the  Marquis  de  Ustariz,  intendant  of  Badajoz.  By 
the  terms,  in  which  Count  Florida  Blanca  has  couched  my 
passport,  it  is  set  forth  that  I  am  travelling  through  Spain 
towards  Italy  for  the  establishment  of  my  health  :  under 
this  pretext  it  is  in  my  power  to  take  my  route  as  a  private 
traveller,  and  by  no  means  deliver  to  the  minister  your 
lordship's  letter  until  I  have  explicit  satisfaction  in  the 
leading  points  of  my  instructions  :  should  I  find  the  court  of 
Spain  acquiescent  under  these  particulars,  success  will  jus- 
tify a  doubtful  measure  ;  whereas  if  I  withstand  the  invita- 
tion and  advice  of  Mr.  liussey,  sent  no  doubt  with  the  pri- 
vity of  the  minister,  and  expressive  of  his  good  washes  and 
desires  for  an  accommodation,  I  shall  throw  every  thing  into 
heat  and  ferment,  ruin  all  Mr.Hussey 's  influence,  from  which 
I  have  so  much  to  expect,  and  at  once  blast  all  his  operations, 
now  in  so  fair  a  train  for  success,  and  which  probably  have 
been  much  advanced  since  Daly's  departure.  In  short,  my 
lord,  I  regard  this  dilemma  as  a  case,  in  which  personal  cau- 
tion points  to  one  side,  and  public  service  to  the  other.  In 
this  light  I  view  it,  and  although  Mr.  Hussey's  letter  to  your 
lordship,  (for  it  was  under  a  flying  seal)  is  as  silent  on  the 
same  material  point,  as  that  to  me  is,  I  have  after  full  deli- 


It 

1 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  219 

beration  thought  it  for  his  majesty's  serviee  that  I  should  no 
longer  hesitate  to  pursue  the  advice  of  Mr.  Husscy,  but  re- 
solve to  set  out  upon  my  journey  for  Spain. 

"  The  high  opinion  I  entertain  of  Mr.  Husscy 's  under- 
standing weighs  strongly  with  me  for  this  measure,  because 
I  know  he  has  intuition  to  penetrate  chicanery,  and  discretion 
enough  not  to  expose  me  to  it ;  and  though  he  does  not  ex- 
pressly say  that  there  is  no  obstacle  in  my  way,  yet  this 
I  am  persuaded  must  be  his  firm  assurance  and  be- 
lief before  he  would  commit  me  to  the  journey.  The 
verbal  message  he  has  sent  me  by  his  servant  Daly  thatc// 
^6-  well^  is  to  me  a  very  encouraging  circumstance,  because 
it  is  a  concerted  token  and  pass-word  between  us,  agreed 
upon  v/hen  we  were  together  in  the  frigate.  The  under- 
lined expressions  in  the  memorandum  for  my  journey  have 
not  escaped  my  observation,  and  I  inclose  you  the  original 
for  your  inspection :  he  says,  I  am  impatient  to  tell  you  a 
thousand  things,  which  I  do  not  write.  This  marks  to  me 
an  embarrassment  and  reserve  in  his  letter,  which  probably 
arose  from  the  necessity  of  his  communicating  it  to  the  sub- 
minister  Campo,  or  to  the  minister  himself.  The  letters  to 
your  lordship  and  me  w  ere  couched  nearly  in  the  same 
words,  and  these  so  much  out  of  his  style  of  expression,  that 
they  seem  either  shaped  to  meet  another  man's  thoughts, 
or  to  be  of  another  man's  dictating.  He  tells  me  m  the 
same  memorandum,  that  at  Aranjuez  every  thing  else^  as 
well  as  his  heart,  will  be  ready  to  receive  me  :  these  expres- 
sions from  Mr.  Hussey  I  know  to  be  no  trivial  indications  of 
his  thoughts,  and  though  I  am  sensible  my  duty  instructs 
me  to  take  clearer  lights  for  my  guidance  than  side-way 
hints  and  insinuations  can  supply,  yet  such  circumstances 
may  come  as  aids,  though  not  as  principals,  in  the  formation 
of  an  opinion. 

"  I  think  it  material  to  add  that  I  have  reason  to  believe 
the  dispatch  which  the  Spanish  ambassador  received  from 
the  minister  by  the  hands  of  Daly,  Mr.  Hussey's  servant,  is 
expressive  of  the  same  disposition  to  a  separate  accommo- 
dation with  Great  Britain,  and  accords  with  what  is  stated  by 
Mr.  Hussey  in  his  letter  to  your  lordship. 

"  Through  the  same  intelligence  I  have  discovered  the 
channel,  by  which  the  propositions  fabricated  in  this  place 
were  conveyed  to  the  Spanish  minister,  and  am  to  the  bot- 
tom made  acquainted  with  that  whole  intrigue.     I  can  only 


^iO  ^        MEMOIRS  OF 


by  this  opportunity  inform  your  lordship,  that  it  is  a  disca 
very  of  much  importance  to  me  in  my  future  proceedings, 
gives  me  power  over,  and  possession  of,  an  agent  in  trust 
and  confidence  with  the  minister  of  Spain,  as  well  as  with  the 
ambassador  here,  and  that  the  deductions  I  draw  from  it 
strongly  operate  to  incline  my  judgment  to  the  resolution  I 
have  now  taken  of  entering  Spain. 

"  I  have  the  honour,  ^c.  R.  C." 

Having  hired  carriages  and  provided  myself  with  things  ne- 
cessary for  my  journey  to  Badajoz,  I  wrote  on  the  next  morn- 
ing the  following  letter  to  the  Secretary  of  State,  separate 
find  distinct  from  the  dispatch,  inserted  as  above— 

«   To  the  Earl  of  Hillsborough r 

"  Lisbon,  June  7th,  1780. 
"  My  Lord,  Wednesday  morning  5  o'clock. 

"  I  am  sensible  I  have  taken  a  step,  which  ex- 
poses m^e  to  censure  upon  failure  of  success,  unless  the  rea- 
sons, on  which  I  have  acted,  shall  be  weighed  with  candour 
and  even  with  indulgence.  In  the  decision,  I  have  taken  for 
entering  Spain,  I  have  had  no  other  object  but  to  keep  alive 
a  negociation,  to  which  any  backwardness  or  evasion  on  my 
part  in  the  present  crisis  would  I  am  persuaded  be  immedi- 
ate extinction.  I  know  where  my  danger  lies,  but  as  my 
endeavouro  for  the  public  service  and  the  honour  of  your  ad- 
ministration are  sincere,  I  have  no  doubt  but  I  shall  obtain 
vour  protection. 

"  Though  I  dare  not  rest  my  public  argument  so  much 
on  private  opinion  as  I  am  disposed  to  confess  to  you,  yet 
you  will  plainly  see  how  far  I  am  swayed  by  my  confidence  in 
Mr.  Hussey,  and  this  will  be  the  more  evident  when  I  must 
fairly  own  that  Mr.  Walpole's  opinion  is  not  with  me  for 
my  immediate  journey  into  Spain :  I  owe  this  justice  to 
liim,  that,  if  I  fail,  it  may  be  known  he  is  free  from  all  parti- 
cipation in  my  error,  I  have  delivered  your  letter,  and  in  gene- 
ral opened  the  business  to  him  as  I  was  directed  to  do,  but 
I  have  disclosed  to  him  no  other  instruction,  except  that,  on 
which  Mr.  Hussey '*s  errand  turns.  He  appears  to  me  total-; 
ly  to  discredit  the  sincerity  of  Spain  towards  any  accommo* 
dation  with  Great-Britain,  and  this  opinion  certainly  colour- 
ed his  whole  argument  upon  the  subject :  had  we  agreed  m 


RICHARD  CUMBERI.AND.  221 

this  principal  position,  it  is  likely  we  should  not  have  differ- 
ed in  deductions  from  it. 

«  I  have  written  to  Mr.  Hussey,  and  beg;  leave  to  send 
vou  a  copy  of  my  letter.  I  had  fully  purposed,  in  conform- 
ity to  what  I  said  to  your  lordship,  that  my  family  should  not 
accompany  me  upon  my  journey,  but  the  nature  of  the  pass- 
port and  the  circumstances  that  have  arisen,  make  it  indis- 
pensable for  me  to  take  them  with  me,  not  only  as  an  ex- 
cuse for  my  delay  upon  the  road  till  Mr.  Hussey  shall  meet 
me,  but  also  as  a  cover  for  my  pretence  of  health,  should  I 
find  it  necessary  to  pass  through  Spain  without  an  explana- 
tion with  the  minister,  ^c.  iP'c. 

"  R.  C." 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  8th  instant,  I  took 
my  departure  from  Lisbon,  embarking  in  one  of  the  queen's 
barges  for  Aldea  Gallega,  whilst  my  wife  and  daughters  ac- 
companied me  in  the  Milford's  cutter  with  the  first  lieutenant 
and  iTi aster. 

The  passage  to  Aldea  Gallega  is  about  nine  miles  up  the 
river,  which  here  forms  a  magnificent  sheet  of  water.  At 
the  wretched  Posada  in  this  place  we  had  our  first  sample  of 
that  dirt  and  loathsomeness,  which  admit  of  no  description, 
and  which  every  baiting  place  throughout  Portugal  and  Spain 
with  little  variation  presented  to  us.  Men  may  endure  such 
scenes  ;  to  women  of  delicacy  they  are  and  must  be  nause- 
ous in  the  extreme.  The  policy  of  these  courts  agrees  in 
prohibiting  the  publican  from  furnishing  any  thing  to  the 
traveller  but  firing :  provisions  must  be  purchased  by  the 
way,  and  the  kid,  whose  carcass  has  dangled  on  your  car- 
riage in  the  sun  and  dust,  half  fried  by  the  one,  and  more 
than  half  basted  by  the  other,  must  be  roasted  for  your  meal 
by  the  faggot,  that  you  purchase  of  your  host,  which  in  the 
meanwhile  if  you  do  not  manfully  defend,  the  muletteerand 
way-faring  carrier  will  take  a  share  of,  and  incense  your  poor 
carrion  kid  with  the  execrable  fumes  of  his  rank  mess  of  oil 
and  garlick.  This  rarely  fails  to  stir  up  strife  and  fierce 
contention,  which  the  host  takes  little  or  no  pains  to  ailay, 
sometimes  ferments,  till,  if  your  people  c?jinot  drive  off  the 
interlopers  vv^ith  a  high  hand,  you  call  in  the  peace-officer  of 
the  village  or  town  to  adjust  your  rights,  which  he  is  in  no 
haste  to  do  till  you  quicken  his  tardy  sense  of  justice  with 
a  portion  of  your  roast  meat.     I  vfas  once  driven  to  this  is- 


^22  MEMOIRS  or" 

ference,  wlienmy  people  were  out-numberccl,  and  then  m^ 
defender  gcive  me  gravely  to  understand  that  his  spouse  wa! 
extremely  partial  to  cold  turkey,  that  alluring  object  havin^ 
been  incautiously  exposed  to  his  eager  ken.  1  tried  if  he' 
would  compound  for  a  leg,  but  his  spouse  had  a  decided 
preference  for  the  wing,  and  nothing  short  of  half  could 
move  him  to  give  sentence  for  my  right.  I  had  purchased 
at  Lisbon  two  grey  mules  for  the  saddle  at  a  high  price  ; 
they  were  beautiful  creatures,  very  fast  trotters  and  perfect- 
ly sure-footed,  so  that  I  rode  occasionally  and  could  make 
short  excursions,  when  there  was  any  thing  better  than  a 
dreary  wilderness  to  tempt  me  out  of  the  road. 

On  the  9th  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Captain  Payne 
arrived,  having  been  all  night  on  the  water ;  we  breakfast- 
ed, and  having  taken  leave  of  our  friends,  departed  from  Al- 
dea  Gallega,  our  road  lying  over  a  sandy  country,  inter- 
spersed however  with  the  olive  and  cork  tree,  and  almost 
covered  with  myrtle  bushes  in  full  bloom.  We  passed  by 
Vendas  Novas,  an  unfurnished  palace  of  the  Queen's,  and  put 
up  our  beds  for  the  night  at  a  lone  house  near  Siiveria.  On 
the  10th  we  passed  Montemor,  situated  on  a  beautiful  emi- 
nence, and  further  on  Arrayolas,  where  there  are  the  re- 
mains of  a  stately  castle  of  Moorish  construction,  as  it  should 
seem,  and  concluded  our  day's  journey  at  a  lone  house,  call- 
ed Venda  do  Duque.  On  the  1 1th,  passing  through  Estre- 
mos  we  came  to  Elvas,  the  frontier  town  of  Portugal,  with- 
in sight  of  Badajoz  in  the  plain  at  three  leagues  distance. 
The  w^orks  erected  by  Count  la  Lippe  on  the  hill,  which 
commands  the  town,  and  the  fortifications  of  the  town  itself, 
seemed  very  extensive  and  in  perfect  repair,  and  the  troops 
well  accoutred  and  in  good  order,  but  the  more  striking  sight 
to  me  was  that  of  the  aqueduct :  it  is  raised  on  four  loft; 
arches  of  stone  cne  over  the  other,  and  enters  the  tovrn  in 
very  grand  style.  The  suburbs  are  finely  planted  and  laid 
out'into  walks  by  Count  la  Lippe,  the  projector,  to  whom  El- 
vas is  indebted  for  those  public  works,  that  constitute  at  oncet<j 
both  her  ornament  and  her  defence.  As  our  minister  at 
Lisbon  had  not  furnished  me  with  any  letter  to  the  gover- 
nor at  Elvas,  I  was  not  only  put  to  trouble  about  my  baggage, 
but  evidently  became  an  object  of  suspicion.  The  former 
of  these  difficulties  I  got  over  by  a  bribe,  but  the  latter  sub- 
jected me  to  restraint,  for  upon  attempting  to  walk  out  of 
my  inn  I  found  a  guard  of  soldiers  v,hh  fixed  bayonets  at  the 


J 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  223 

j5ate,who  prevented  me  from  stirring  out,  and  mounted  on  me 
through  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  the  whole  night,  which 
I  passed  there.  The  next  morning,  whilst  my  carriages 
were  in  waiting  for  me,  an  Irish  benedictine  walked  into 
my  room,  and  in  a  very  authoritative  and  unceremonious 
style  insisted  on  my  staying  there  all  day,  and  even  was  pro- 
ceeding to  countermand  my  carriages.  He  believed,  or  pre- 
tended to  believe,  that  I  was  an  American  agent  or  ncgocia- 
tor,  travelling  into  Spain,  and  began  to  inveigh  most  viru- 
lently against  the  king  and  country,  of  which  he  was  a  sub- 
ject born  :  if  he  was  employed  to  sound  mc  (which  is  not 
improbable)  he  executed  his  office  very  clumsily,  yet  his  in- 
solent importunity  was  a  considerable  interruption  and  ex- 
tremely troublesome.  His  language  in  the  mean  time  was 
intolerably  offensive,  and  his  action  worse,  for  as  I  reached 
out  my  hand  to  take  my  pistols  from  the  table,  the  saucy 
fellow  caught  at  them,  v/ith  an  action  so  suspicious,  that  I 
was  obliged  to  put  him  from  me,  and  sending  my  ladies  out 
of  the  room  before  me  to  the  carriages,  got  in  last  myself 
and  ordered  the  postillions  to  proceed.  The  pertinacious 
monk  still  continued  to  oppose  my  going,  and  even  vented  his 
anathemas  on  the  drivers,  if  they  presumed  to  move.  When 
I  saw  at  the  same  time  that  there  was  a  party  of  dragoons 
mounting  and  parading  at  the  gate  with  drawn  swords  be- 
fore the  heads  of  my  mules,  I  doubted  whether  they  were  in 
fact  an  escort  of  honour  or  arrest,  but  in  a  few  minutes  my 
leading  carriage  moved,  and  thus  guarded  I  passed  the  bar- 
riers, whilst  the  monk  keeping  his  hand  upon  my  carriage, 
a]:id  vociferating  without  intermission,  never  left  me  till  we 
had  passed  through  all  the  out-posts,  and  fairly  entered  the 
plain  in  sight  of  Badajoz. 

It  was  not  pleasant,  and  I  did  not  think  that  the  proper 
precautions  had  been  taken  for  me.  When  I  had  got  rid  of 
my  monk,  (the  guard  having  taken  no  notice  of  his  insolent 
behaviour)  in  about  a  league  and  a  half's  driving  a  foot's 
pace  we  came  to  a  small  stream,  which  divides  the  territo- 
ries of  Portugal  from  Spain.  Here  we  watered  the  mules, 
whilst  on  the  opposite  bank  I  perceived  a  paity  of  Spanish 
infantry  waiting  as  it  seemed  to  receive  and  escort  me.  My 
Portuguese  dragoons  in  perfect  silence  wheeled  about  and 
departed,  and  no  sooner  had  I  touched  the  Spanish  soil  than 
the  party  presented  arms,  and  a  iixssenger  in  the  livery  of 
tJie  king  ^vitli  his  badge  of  office  on  his  sleeve,  signified  to 


224  MEMOIRS  OF 

me  that  coaches  were  in  waiting  for  me  at  Badajoz,  and  that 
he  had  his  Catholic  majesty's  commands  to  attend  upon  me 
through  my  journey.  During  this,  my  Portuguese  postil- 
lions, finding  themselves  in  my  power,  and  apprehending  no 
doubt  that  their  hesitation  in  obeying  me  against  thedenun-' 
ciations  of  the  aforesaid  benedictine,  might  justly  have  of-r 
fended  me,  fell  on  their  knees  in  the  most  abject  manner, 
kissing  the  skirts  of  my  coat  and  imploring  pardon  and  for- 
giveness. Having  ordered  them  to  mount  and  proceed,  wc 
soon  reached  Badajoz,  and  were  received  into  the  garrison 
v/ith  all  the  honours  they  could  shew  us.  As  a  town  Badajoz 
has  nothing  to  engage  the  traveller,  and  as  a  fortified  place 
stands  in  no  degree  of  comparison  with  Elvas.  The  troops, 
being  mostly  invalids,  made  a  very  indifferent  appearance, 
but  the  windows  and  balconies  were  thronged  with  specta- 
tors, who  bestowed  every  mark  of  favour  and  good  will  upon'* 
us  as  we  passed  the  streets. 

Here  I  found  a  coach  and  six  mules  in  waiting,  and  after 
some  stay  set  forward  at  midnight,  the  gates  being  opened 
forme,  and  a  guard  turned  out  by  order  of  the  governor,  and 
we  proceeded  to  Miajada,  where  a  fresh  relay  was  in  readi- 
ness. The  province  of  Estremadura  is  miserably  barren, 
producing  nothing  to  relieve  the  eye  but  cork  trees  thinly^ 
scccttered,  and  here  and  there  a  few  distorted  olive  trees. 
The  like  disconsolate  aspect  of  a  country,  where  neither' 
cattle  nor  habitations  were  to  be  seen,  prevailed  through  the 
whole  of  our  next  stage  to  Truxillo,  where  we  halted  on  the 
night  of  the  14th  instant.  i 

In  this  stage  we  were  warned  by  our  attendant  messenger 
to  be  upon  our  guard  against  robbers,  and  in  truth  the  coun- 
try furnished  most  appropriate  scenes  and  inviting  oppor- 
tunities for  such  adventurers.  I  had  three  English  servants 
and  two  men  hired  in  Lisbon,  besides  the  messenger  above- 
mentioned,  and  myself  and  my  English  servants  in  particu- 
lar were  excellently  armed  and  ammunitioned.  My  En- 
glishmen consisted  of  Pvlr.  Hussey's  man  Daly,  a  London 
hair-dresser  of  the  name  of  Legge,  whom  I  took  for  the  con- 
venience of  my  wife  and  daughters,  and  my  own  faithful 
servant  Thomas  Camis,  of  tried  courage  and  attachment,  who 
had  lived  with  me  faom  the  age  of  ten  years.  In  the  middle 
of  the  night,  when  we  Avere  in  the  depth  of  the  forest,  or 
rather  wilderness,  the  Spaniard  r®de  up  to  my  carriage  win- 
dow, and  telling  me  we  were  then  in  the  most  suspicious 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  225 

part  of  our  road,  recommended  it  to  me  to  collect  my  peo- 
ple about  me  and  keep  them  together.  Daly  mdeed  was  not 
far  behind,  but  in  a  state  of  absolute  intoxication  and  sleeping 
on  his  mule  :  my  hair-dresser  pretty  much  in  the  same 
state,  but  totally  disabled  from  excess  of  cowardice,  of  which 
he  had  given  some  unequivocal  and  most  ridiculous  tokens 
before  and  during  our  action  in  the  frigate  ;  I  had  not  much 
reliance  on  my  Postuguesc,  one  of  whom  was  a  black  fellow, 
and  in  the  mean  time  my  brave  and  trusty  servant  Camis  was 
not  to  be  found,nor  did  he  answer  to  any  call.  Distressed  with 
apprehension  lest  some  fatal  accident  had  befallen  this  most 
valuable  man,  I  got  out  of  my  coach  determined  not  to  move 
from  the  spot  without  him,  and  sent  the  Spanish  messenger 
and  two  other  men  in  search  of  him.  During  their  absence 
I  heard  a  trampling  of  horses,  and  soon  discovered  through 
the  dusk  of  the  night  two  men  armed  with  guns  which  they 
carried  under  the  thigh,  who  rode  smartly  up  to  the  carriage 
and  proved  to  be  archers  on  the  patrole.  This  confirmed 
the  report  that  the  road  was  infested  by  robbers,  and  whilst 
this  was  passing  I  had  the  satisfaction  to  be  joined  by  my 
servant  Thomas  Camis  on  foot,  his  mule  having  sunk  under 
him,  exhausted'  with  fatigue.  He  now  mounted  behind 
the  coach,  and  the  men  dispatched  in  search  for  him  hav- 
ing come  in,  we  pursued  our  route  and  arrived  in  safety  at 
Truxiilo. 

From  Truxiilo  we  passed  a  very  rugged  and  mountain- 
ous tract  of  country  to  Tenta  del  Lugar  Nuevo  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tagus.  This  is  a  very  romantic  station,  and  the  bridge 
a  curious  and  most  striking  object  passing  from  one  rock  to 
another  upon  two  very  lofty  Roman  arches,  the  river  flowing 
underneath  at  a  prodigious  depth. 

On  the  1 6th  we  passed  through  La  Calzada  to  Talavera 
la  Reina,  a  town  in  New  Castile  of  considerable  population 
and  extent.  A  silk  fabric  is  here  established  under  the 
king's  especial  patronage.  Here  the  following  letter  from 
Mr.  Hussey  met  me 

"  From  Mr,  Hussey  to  Twe." 

"  Aranjuez,  Wednesday  morning; 
14th  June  1780. 
'*  My  dearest  friend, 

"  How  could  you  suspect  that  I  would  send  for  you 
"  if  I  found  the  obstacle  in  my  way,  which  makes  you  so  un- 


226  MEMOIRS  OF 

"  easy  ?  But  it  was  my  intention  to  go  part  of  the  way  fronfl 
*'  Aranjuez  to  meet  you,  to  indulge  my  affection  by  person- 
"  ally  attending  you  and  your  family  as  soon  as  possible  ; 
"  but  as  you  do  not  mention  what  delay  you  intended  to 
*'  make  in  Badajoz,  I  cannot  precisely  guess  the  day  oi 
"  your  arrival  here,  and  therefore  I  dispatch  this  letter  U 
"  meet  you  at  Talavera  la  Reina,  that  I  may  know  it  mori 
"  exactly,  which  will  be  by  returning  a  line  to  me,  inform^ 
"  ing  me  of  the  day,  and  whether  you  think  it  will  be  in  th< 
"  morning  or  evening.  As  the  distance  between  Talaver 
"  and  Aranjuez  is  too  great  for  one  day's  journey  with  th^ 
"  same  mules,  I  have  ordered  a  fresh  set  to  be  posted  fo 
*'  you  seven  leagues  from  this  place  at  La  Venta  de  Oliaa 
"  two  leagues  and  a  half  from  that  part  of  the  Tagus  callei 
*'  Las  Barcas  de  Azecar,  where  you  cross  the  water,  an< 
"  probably  you  will  meet  me  ;  otherwise  you  will  come  oi 
"  and  meet  me  on  the  road.  This  fresh  set  of  mules  wai 
"  absolutely  necessary,  because  you  could  find  no  place  t< 
"  sleep  in  between  Talavera  and  xVranjuez.  You  do  no 
"  come  through  Toledo.  I  long  to  embrace  you  and  mj 
"  amiable  friends,  and  open  my  mind  to  your  satisfaction  j 
"  well  as  pleasure. 

«  Adieu! 

«  T.  H." 

To  this  letter  1  answered  as  follows      i 

"   To  Mr.  Hussey:' 

"  Talavera  la  Reina,  Friday  16th 
June  half-past  5  evening. 
"  My  dearest  friend, 

"  Your  consolatory  letter  meets  me  at  the  end  of  a 
^  long  and  laborious  journey,  and  like  a  magical  charm  puts 
"  all  my  cares  to  rest  at  once.  Say  not  however //ow  could  I 
"  susfiect — Had  that  been  the  case,  how  could  I  advance  ? 
"  Yet  I  am  come  at  every  risque  upon  the  reliance,  which 
*'  I  am  fixed  to  repose  in  your  honour  and  friendship  upon 
"  all  occasions. 

"  I  have  entered  on  an  arduous  service  without  any  con- 
"  ditions,  and  I  fear  without  securing  to  myself  that  sure 
"  support,  which  they,  by  whom  and  for  whom  I  am  em- 
"  ployed,  ought  to  hold  forth  to  me ;  but  you  know  full  well 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  22r 

**  who  is,  and  nvho  is  not^  my  corresponding  minister,  and  if 
"  success  does  not  bear  me  through  in  this  step,  which  I 
"  have  taken,  my  good  intentions  will  not  stand  me  in  much 
"  stead.  Still,  when  I  saw  that  my  reluctance  would  affect 
^*  your  situation,  dash  every  measure  you  have  laid,  and  an- 
"  nihilate  all  chance  of  rendering  sei-vice  to  my  country  in 
"  this  trying  crisis,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  risque  this  journey, 
"  even  against  the  advice  of  Mr.  W. 

''  We  are  not  long  since  arrived  after  a  most  sultry  stage, 
"  and  have  been  travelling  all  night  without  a  halt.  I  dare 
"  not  but  give  Mrs.  Cumberland  an  hour  or  two's  repose, 
"  and  shall  not  take  my  departure  from  hence  till  midnight. 
*'  I  shall  stop  at  La  Venta  de  Olias  to  relieve  my  party  from 
"  a  few  hot  hours,  and  shall  be  there  to-morrow  morning 
**  about  ten  or  eleven.  I  «hall  set  out  from  thence  at  seven 
"  o'clock  in  the  evening  at  latest,  and  reach  the  ferry  at  Las 
*'  Barcas  de  Azecar  at  nine  that  evening— There  if  we  meet, 
^*  or  whenever  else  more  convenient  to  yourself,  it  will  I 
*'  trust  in  God  be  remembered  as  one  of  the  happy  mo- 
"  ments,  that  here  and  there  have  sparingly  chequered  the 
*'  past  life  of  your 

"  Affectionate  R.  C* 

From  Talavera  on" the  1 7th  instant  we  came  to  the  little 
village  of  Olias  about  half-way,  where  we  took  the  necessary 
relief  of  rest,  and  as  the  weather  was  now  intolerably  hot, 
my  v/ife  and  daughters  being  almost  exhausted  with  fatigue, 
we  laid  by  for  the  whole  of  the  day.  Here  the  Alcayde  of 
the  village  very  hospitably  sent  me  refreshments,  and  called 
on  me  at  my  inn,  offering  his  house,  and  whatever  it  afforded. 
I  returned  his  visit,  and  found  the  good  old  man  surround- 
ed by  his  children  and  grand-children,  a  numerous  family, 
grouped  in  their  degrees,  and  sitting  in  their  best  apart- 
ment ready  to  receive  me.  After  chocolate  had  been 
served  the  guitar  was  introduced,  and  the  younger  parties 
danced  their  sequedillas.  When  they  had  animated  them- 
selves v/ith  this  dance,  the  player  on  the  guitar  began  to 
sound  the  notes  of  the  fa.ndango :  I  had  seated  myself  by 
the  old  grandfather,  a  feeble  nerveless  creature,  and  observ- 
ed with  some  concern  a  paralytic  motion  vibrating  in  all  his 
limbs  and  muscles,  when  at  once  unable  to  keep  his  seat  he 
■started  up  in  a  kind  of  ecstacy,  and  began  snapping  his  fin- 
gers like  castanets  and  dancing  the  fandango  to  my  surprise 


228  MEMOIRS  OF 

and  amusement.  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  it  per- 
formed, and  I  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  extravagant  attach- ^ 
ment  which  the  Spaniards  show  for  that  national  tune"  and 
dance. 

On  Saturday  the  18th  of  June,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, we  arrived  at  Aranjeuz,  and  were  most  affectionately 
w^elcomed  by  Mr.  Hussey.  He  delivered  a  paper  to  me 
dictated  by  the  minister,  and  first  appearances  argued  favou- 
rably for  my  negociation.  The  day  following  I  was  visited 
by  the  sub-minister  Campo,  Anduaga  and  Escarno,  (belong 
ing  to  the  minister's  department,)  also  by  the  Due  d'Almo 
dovar,  Abbe  Curtis  and  others,  and  in  the  evening  of  that  da; 
I  had  my  first  interview  with  the  Count  Florida  Blanca. 

I  shall  not  eater  upon  local  descriptions  ;  it  is  neither  t( 
my  purpose,  nor  can  it  edify  the  reader,  who  will  find  all  thii 
done  so  much  better  by  writers  who  have  travelled  into  Spaii 
and  been  more  at  leisure  for  looking  about  them  than  ever 
was.  My  thoughts  were  soon  distressfully  occupied  by  the  ac- 
count which  met  me,  of  the  riots  and  disturbances  in  London 
by  what  was  called  Lord  George  Gordon's  mob,  which  all  but 
quite  extinguished  my  hopes  of  success  in  the  very  outset 
of  my  business.  I  had  repeated  interviews  with  the  mini- 
ster, whom  I  visited  by  night,  ushered  by  his  confidential 
valet  through  a  suite  of  five  rooms,  the  door  of  every  one 
of  which  was  constantly  locked  as  soon  as  I  had  passed 
it.  The  description  of  those  dreadful  tumults  was  given 
to  the  Spanish  court  by  their  ambassador  at  Paris,  Count 
d'Aranda,  and  faithfully  given  without  exaggeration.  The 
effect  it  had  upon  the  King  of  Spain  was  great  indeed, 
and  for  me  most  unfortunate,  for  I  had  no  advices  from 
my  court  to  qualify  or  oppose  it.  How  this  intelligence 
operated  on  the  mind  of  his  Catholic  Majesty  can  only  bid 
conceived  by  such  as  were  acquainted  with  his  characterjl 
and  know  to  what  degree  he  remained  affected  by  the  insur- 
rection, then  not  long  passed,  in  his  own  caj>ital  of  Madrid. 
I  will  only  say  that  my  treaty  was  in  shape,  and  such  as  my 
instructions  would  have  warranted  me  to  transmit  and  recom- 
mend. Spain  had  received  a  recent  check  from  Admiral 
Rodney,  Gibraltar  had  been  relieved  with  a  high  hand,  she 
was  also  upon  very  delicate  and  dubious  terms  v/ith  France. 
The  crisis  was  decidedly  in  my  favour ;  my  reception  flat- 
tering in  the  extreme  ;  the  Spanish  nation  was  anxious  for 
peace,  and  both  court,  ecclesiastics  and  military  professedly 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  229 

anti-gallicati.  The  minister  did  not  lose  an  hour  after  my 
arrival,  but  with  much  apparent  alacrity  in  the  cause  imme- 
diately proceeded  to  business.  I  never  had  any  reason  upon 
reflection  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  Count  Florida  Blanca  at 
this  moment,  and  verily  believe  we  should  have  advanced  the 
business  of  the  preliminaries,  if  the  fatal  nev/s  of  the  riots 
Iiad  not  most  critically  come  to  hand  that  very  day  on  which 
by  the  minister's  own  appointment  we  were  to  meet  for  fair 
discussion  of  the  terms,  while  nothing'  seemed  to  threaten 
serious  difficulty  or  disagreement  between  us. 

According  to  appointment  I  came  to  him,  perfectly  igno- 
rant of  what  had  come  to  pass  in  my  own  country :  I  had 
prepared  myself  to  the  best  of  my  capacity  for  a  meeting 
and  discussion  which  it  behoved  me  to  manage  with  discre- 
tion and  address,  and  which  according  to  my  vi^w  of  it  pro- 
mised to  crown  my  mission  with  success.     We  were  to 
write,  and  Campo  was  to  be  present,  so  that  when  I  entered 
the  minister's  inner  chamber,  and  saw  only  a  small  table 
with  a  single  candle,  no  Campo  present  and  no  materials  for 
writing,  I  own  my  mind  misgave  me  :  I  did  not  wait  more 
than  two  minutes  before  Florida  Blanca  came  out  of  his  clo- 
set, and  in  a  lamentable  tone  sung  out  the  downfal  of  Lon- 
don ;  king,  ministers  and  government  whelmed  in  ruin,  the 
rebellion  of  America  transplanted  to  England,  and  heartily 
as  he  condoled  with  me,  how  could  he  under  such  circum- 
stances commit  his  court  to  treat  with  me  ?     I  did  not  take 
the  whole  for  truth,  and  was  too  much  on  my  guard  to  be- 
!  tray  any  astonishment  or  alarm,  but  left  him  to  lament  the 
'  unhappy  state  of  my  wretched  country,  and  affected  to  treat 
I  the  narrative  as  a  French  exaggeration  of  the  transitory  tu- 
mults of  a  London  mob.     In  the  mean  time  I  could  not  fail 
to  see,  that  nothing  was  to  be  done  on  my  part,  but  to  yield 
I  to  the  moment   and  wait  for  information,  upon  which  I 
I  might  rely.     All  that  I  did  in  the  interim  was  to  address  a 
\  letter  to  the  minister,  and  confidently  risque  a  prediction 
i  that  the  tumult  would  be  quashed  so  speedily  and  complete- 
i  ly  as  to  add  dignity  to  the  king's  government,  and  stability 
||  to  his  ministers.     He  gave  for  answer  that  both  his  Catho- 
||  lie  Majesty  and  himself  trembled  for  the  king,  but  of  the 
I  extermination  of  the  ministry  no  question  could  be  made, 
||  I  renewed  my  assertions  in  terms  more  confident  than  be- 
■  fore,  not  so  much  upon  conviction  as  from  desperation,  well 
knowing  that,  if  I  was  undone  by  the  event,  it  was  of  little 

u 


230  MEMOIRS  OF 

importance  that  I  v/as  disgraced  by  my  over  confidence  and 
presumption. 

In  the  course  of  a  very  few  days  my  prediction  was  happi- 
ly verified,  for  on  the  24th  I  was  informed  by  Esearano  that 
the  rioters  were  quelled,  Lord  George  Gordon  committed 
to  the  tov/er,  and  indemnification  ordered  to  the  sufterers  in 
the  tumult,  and  on  the  day  follovving  the  minister  sent  me 
the  letter  he  had  received  from  Count  d'Aranda  to  explain 
why  he  had  delayed  to  inform  me  of  the  news  from  London. 
I  availed  myself  of  this  happy  change  by  every  means  in  my 
poAver  for  bringing  back  the  negociation  to  that  state  of  for- 
v/ardness  in  which  it  stood  before  it  was  interrupted,  but  the 
minds  and  understandings  of  those,  with  whom  I  had  to  deal, 
v/ere  not  easily  to  be  cured  of  alarms  once  given,  or  preju- 
dices one  received.  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  discuss 
the  characters  with  whom  it  was  my  lot  to  treat,  it  is  enough  , 
to  say  that  dumig  more  than  a  year's  abode  in  Spain,  I  be- 
lieve no  moment  occurred  so  favorable  to  the  business  I  had 
in  hand,  as  that  of  which  ill-fortune  had  deprived  me  in  the 
very  outset  of  my  undertaking.  There  was  a  gloomy  be- 
ing, out  of  sight  and  inaccessible,  whose  command  as  con- 
fessor over  tiie  royal  mind  was  absolute,  and  whose  bigotryjj 
was  disposed  to  represent  every  thing  in  the  darkest  colour^ 
against  a  nation  of  heretics,  whose  late  enormities  afforded 
too  good  a  subject  for  his  spleen  to  discant  upon  ;  and  in  the 
mind,  where  no  illumination,  no  elasticity  resides,  impres- 
sions will  strike  strongly  and  sink  deep. 

On  the  26th  I  had  completed  my  dispatches,  in  which  I 
gave  a  full  and  circumstantial  detail  of  my  proceeding,  the 
hopes  I  had  entertained,  and  the  interruption  I  had  met 
v/ith,  the  conferences  and  correspondences  I  had  held  with 
the  minister,  and  the  measures  I  had  pursued  for  reviving 
the  negociation,  and  reconducting  it  according  to  the  tenour 
of  my  instructions.  In  this  dispatch  I  observe  to  the  Secre- 
tary of  Stiite,  "  That  although  I  relied  upon  his  lordship's 
''  kind  interpretation  of  my  motives  for  leaving  Lisbon,  yet  it 
*^'  was  no  inconsiderable  anxiety  I  suffered  till  my  doubts  were 
'•  satisfied  upon  the  points  which  Mr.  Hussey's  letter  had  not 
''  sufficiently  explained.  As  it  appeared  to  me  a  case,  where 
*^  I  might  use  my  discretion,  and  in  which  the  inconvenien- 
"  cies  incidental  to  my  disappointment  bore  no  proportion 
"  to  the  good,  that  might  result  from  my  success,  I  dccid- 
"  edfor  the  journey,  which  I  had  now  performed,  and  flat-  - 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  231 

"  tered  rnyself  his  lordship  would  see  no  cause  to^regret  the 
"  step  I  had  taken." — 

"  Had  I  not  made  ready  use  of  my  passports  and  relays,  I 
"  had  good  reason  to  believe  my  hesitation  would  have  prov- 
^*  ed  decisive  against  my  treaty  ;  whereas  now  I  hud  the  sat- 
"  isfaction  of  seeing  many  things  point  to  a  favoural^le  and 
*^  friendly  issue."— 

Speaking  of  a  probability  of  detaching  Spain  antecedent 
to  the  news  of  the  disturbances  in  London,  1  tell  the  Secre- 
tfiry  of  State — "  Tluit  the  moment  for  detaching  Spain  is 
"  now^'peculiarly  favourable  :  she  is  upon  the  worst  term.s 
*<  with  France  ;  not  only  the  King  of  Naples,  but  the  Queen 
*'  of  Portugal  have  written  pressingly  to  his  Catholic  Ma- 
"  jesty  to  make  peace  with  England,  and  since  my  arrival  a 
"  further  influence  is  set  to  w^ork  to  aid  the  friends  of  peace, 
"  and  this  is  the  Daic  de  Losada,  ;^ho  on  behalf  of  his  ne- 
"  phew  the  Due  d' Almodovar  has  actually  solicited  the  em- 
"  bassy  to  England,  and  been  favourably  received.  These 
"  and  many  other  circumstances  conspire  to  press  the  scale 
*'  for  peace  ;  in  the  opposite  one  we  may  place  their  unre- 
"  trieved  disgrace  in  the  relief  of  Gibraltar,  their  hopes  in 
"  the  grand  armament  from  Cadiz  of  the  28th  of  April, 
"  their  over-rated  success  in  West  Florida,  and  their  belief 
"  that  your  expeditions  to  the  South-American  continent 
"  are  dropt,  and  that  Sir  Edward  Hughes's  condition  disa- 
"  bles  him  from  attempting  any  enterprise  against  the  Ma- 
"  nillas — "  I  then  recite  the  circumstance  that  gave  a 
check  to  my  negociation,  state  the  measures  I  had  taken 
for  resuming  it,  and  transmit  a  summary  of  such  points  in 
requisition  as  require  ansv/ers  and  instructions,  eaid  conclude 
with  suggesting  such  a  mode  of  accommodating  these  to 
the  punctilio  of  the  Spanish  court,  as  in  my  opinion  cannot 
fail  to  bring  the  treaty  to  a  successful  issue — '^  If  this  is  con- 
"  veyed,"  (I  observe)  ^'  in  mild  and  friendly  terms  towards 
"  Spain,  who  submits  the  mode  to  the  free  discretion  of 
*^  Great  Britain,  and  requests  it  only  as  a  salvo,  I  think  I 
"  have  strong  grounds  to  say  her  family  compact  will  no 
*'  longer  hold  her  from  a  separate  peace  with  Great  Bri- 
"  tain—" 

On  the  27th  I  removed  with  my  family  to  Madrid,  where 
I  took  a  commodious  house  in  an  airy  situation,  and  on  tl^e 
1st  of  July  the  king  and  royal  family  arrived  from  Aranjuez. 
Though  I  had  frequent  communications  with  Count  Florida 


232  MEMOIRS  OF 

Blanca  through  the  sub-minister  Campo,  which  occasioned] 
me  to  dispatch  letters  on  the  6th  instant,  yet  I  had  no  ap-l 
pointed  interview  till  the   15th;  our  treaty  paused  for  thej 
expected  answer  to  my  transmission  before  mentioned,  and 
it  was  clear  to  me  that  the  Spanish  minister,  under  the  pre-; 
tence  of  sounding  the  sincerity  of  the  British  cabinet,  wasj 
in  effect  manoeuvring  upon  the  suspicion  of  their  stability  J 
Nevertheless  in  this  conversation,  which  he  held  on  the  ISth^ 
instant,  he  expressly  declares,  "  That  if  Great  Britain  sends 
"  back  any  answer  which  shall  be  couched  in  mild  and  mo- 
^'  derate  terms  towards  Spain,  he  will  then  proceed  upon 
*'  the  treaty  with  all  possible  good  will,  and  give  me  his 
*'  ideas  without  reserve,  endeavouring  to  adjust  some  expe- 
''  dient  satisfactory  to  both  parties  ;  but  he  fears  that  our  mi- 
'•  nistry  is  so  constituted  as  to  deceive  my  hopes  in  the  tern- 
'*  per  and  quality  of  their  reply — '' 

During  this  interval,  whilst  I  remained  without  an  answer 
to  my  dispatch,  the  court  removed  to  San  Ildefonso,  where 
Count  D'Estaing  arrived,  specially  commissioned  to  traverse 
my  negociation,  and  detach  the  Spanish  court  from  their 
projected  treaty  with  Great  Britain.  France  in  the  mean 
time  sacrificed  her  whole  naval  campaign  in  the  harbour  of 
Cadiz,  where  a  combined  force  of  sixty  line  of  battle  ships 
was  assembled,  whilst  the  British  fleet  under  the  succes- 
sive commands  of  Geary  and  Derby  did  worse  than  nothing, 
and  the  capture  of  our  great  East  and  West  Indian  convoy 
by  the  Spanish  squadron  completed  their  triumph  and  our 
discomfitare. 

A  mind  so  fluctuating  and  feeble  as  that  of  the  Spanish- 
minister  was  not  formed  to  preserve  equanimity  in  success, 
©r  to  persist  in  its  resolutions  against  the  counter-action  of 
opinions.  He  was  at  this  period  absolutely  intoxicated  not 
only  by  the  capture  of  our  trading  ships,  but  by  the  alluring 
promises  of  D'Estaing,  and  surrendered  himself  to  the  self- 
interested  councils  of  Galvez,  minister  of  the  Indies,  for  the 
continuance  of  the  war.  That  minister,  (the  creature  of 
France  to  all  intents  and  purposes)  had  like  himself  been 
raised  to  high  office  from  the  humble  occupation  of  a  petty' 
advocate,  and  by  early  habits  of  intimacy,  as  likewise  by  su- 
periority of  intellect,  acquired  a  power  over  his  understand- 
ing little  short  of  absokite  ascendancy. 

Through  the  influence  of  this  man  and  by  the  intrigues  of 
Count  D'Estaing  my  situation  at  this  period  became  as  crit^ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  233 

ical  as  possible  ;  my  house  was  beset  with  spies,  who  made 
report  of  every  thing  they  could  collect  or  impute  ;  I  was 
proscribed  from  all  my  accustomed  friends  and  visitors, 
whilst  no  one  ventured  publicly  to  enter  my  doors  but  the 
empress's  ambassador  Count  Kaunitz,  whom  no  circum- 
stances ever  separated  from  me,  and  a  few  religious,  whose 
visits  to  me  were  more  than  suspicious.  The  most  insidi- 
ous means  were  practised  to  break  Mr.  Hussey  from  me, 
but  though  they  had  their  effect  for  a  short  time,  his  good 
sense  soon  discovered  the  contrivance  and  prevented  its 
effect. 

Finding  myself  thus  beset,  I  attached  to  my  service  cer- 
tain confidential  agents,  who  were  extremely  useful  to  me, 
and  amongst  these  a  gentleman  in  the  employ  of  one  of  the 
nothern  courts,  the  ablest  in  that  capacity,  and  of  the  most 
consummate  address,  I  ever  became  acquainted  with  ;  by 
his  means  I  possessed  myself  of  authentic  papers  and  docu- 
ments, and  was  enabled  to  expose  and  effectually  to  tra- 
verse some  very  insidious  and  highly  important  manoeu- 
vres much  to  my  own  credit  and  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
cabinet,  before  whom  they  were  laid  by  my  corresponding 
minister. 

I  now  received  the  long  expected  answer  to  my  first  dis- 
patch. It  served  little  more  than  to  cover  a  letter  to  Count 
Florida  Blanca,  and  tliat  letter  found  him  now  in  the  hands 
of  D'Estaing,  and  more  than  half  persuaded  that  the  co- 
operation of  France  would  put  him  in  possession  of  Gibral- 
tar, that  coveted  fortress,  whidi  I  would  not  suffer  him  even 
to  name,  and  for  which  Spain  would  almost  have  laid  the 
map  of  her  islands,  and  the  keys  of  her  treasury  at  my  feet. 
1  must  confess  this  letter,  which  I  had  looked  to  with  such 
hope,  was  more  suited  to  gratify  his  purposes  than  mine,  for 
if  quibble  and  evasion  were  what  he  wished  to  avail  himself 
of  at  this  moment,  he  certainly  found  no  want  of  opportunity 
for  the  accomplishment  of  his  wish. 

But  if  the  inclosed  letter  was  not  altogether  what  I  hoped 
for,  the  covering  letter  was  most  decidedly  v/hat  I  had  not 
deserved,  for  it  conveyed  a  more  than  half  implied  reproof 
for  my  having  written  to  the  Spaiiish  Minister  on  the  matter 
of  the  riots,  and  at  the  same  time  acknowledges  that  vdyfia- 
per  was  cautiously  worded^  and  that  I  had  most  certainly  site- 
ceedcd  in  my  argument — Why  I  was  not  to  write  to  the  min- 
ister, who  had  first  written  to  me,  especially  whea  I  wrote 
u    2 


i234  MEMOIRS  OF 

so  cautiously  and  argued  so  suceessfuUy^  I  could  never  com- 
prehend.    When  I  was  surprised  by  a  very  alarming  an( 
unpleasant  piece  of  intelligence,  conveyed  to  my  knowledgi 
through  the  channel  of  my  country's  enemy,  not  of  my  coun^ 
try's  minister,  what  could  I  do  more  conformable  to  my  duty! 
than  attempt  to  soften  the  impressions  it  had  created  ?  I  haf 
not  been  more  than  five  minutes  arrived  before  the  miniS' 
ter's  letter  and  proposals  were  put  into  my  hands.     What"' 
could  occur  to  me  so  natural  both  in  policy  and  politeness 
as  to  write  to  him,  especially  on  a  subject  ^o  deeply  inter- 
esting, so  imperiously  demanding  of  me  an  appeal,  that  to 
have  sunk  under  it  in  silence  would  have  been  disgraceful  im 
the  extreme  ? 

In  the  same  letter  I  am  reminded — That  I  was  instructed: 
not  even  to  converse  upon  any  particular  proposition,^  until  1 
was  satisjied  of  the  willingness  of  the  Court  of  Spain  to  treat  at 
all — Of  this  willingness  his  lordship  professes  to  doubt,  and 
grounds  that  doubt  upon  what  he  gathers  from  my  report  of 
the  change,  which  seemed  to  have  been  wrought  in  the  dis- 
position of  the  minister  by  the  intelligence  of  the  disturban- 
<:es  in  London  ;  whereas  the  conversation,  which  he  alludes 
to,  was  held  before  that  intelligence  arrived^  when  the  wil- 
Ungness  to  treat  was  put  out  of  all  doubt  by  the  very  progress 
made  in  that  treaty,  and  which  was  only  not  completed  by  the 
check  which  that  intelligence  gave  to  it.  If  when  the  pre-, 
mier  of  Spain  assured  himself  of  the  total  overthrow  of  our 
ministry  he  hesitated  to  proceed  in  treating  with  the  agent 
of  that  ministry,  it  is  nothing  wonderful ;  but  it  would  have 
been  wonderful,  if  when  I  had  such  proofs  of  his  %villingness^ 
I  had  not  been  sadsfied  with  them,  because  something  to-' 
tally  unforeseen  m.ight  come  to  pass  to  thwart  the  business- 
we  v/ere  then  engaged  in.  By  parity  of  reason  I  might  as' 
well  have  been  made  responsible  for  the  riots  themselves, 
as  for  the  consequences  that  resulted  from  them.  It  is  a  pity 
^hat  his  lordship  did  not  advert  to  the  order  of  time  laid  dov/n 
in  m.y  dispatch,  by  which  he  could  not  have  failed  to  discover,- 
that  in  one  part  of  it  I  was  reporting  conversation  held  when 
all  vv'as  well,  and  in  the  other  part  remarking  upon  embar- 
rassments naturaHy  produced  by  unforeseen  events  of  the! 
most  alarming  nature. 

That  I  had  been  careful  enough  to  have  satisfactory  proofs.. 
of  a  willingness  to  treat  before  I  committed  myself  to  con- 
versation is  sufficiently  clear  from  the  circumstance  above 


I 


RICHARD  CUIVffeERLAND.  235 

mentioned  of  the  overtures  presented  to  me  in  the  very  in- 
stant of  my  arrival,  before  I  hud  seen  the  minister,  or  he  had 
seen  my  letter  of  accreditation.  Willingncfis  more  uneqiii- 
cal  hardly  can  be  conceived,  and  when  I  did  present  that  let- 
ter upon  my  first  interview  I  reported  to  my  secretary  of 
state  the  sum  total  of  my  conversation,  which  consisting  only 
of  the  following  words,  copied  verbatim  from  the  transcript 
of  my  letter  to  Lord  Hillsborough,  could  not  much  edify  his 
excellency,  or  divulge  any  secrets  I  was  instructed  to  be  re- 
served upon,  ^ell  his  lordship  in  my  letter  of  the  26th  of 
June  1780, — ''  That  after  the  first  civilities,  I  put  into  the 
minister's  hands  his  lordship's  letter,  which  I  desired  he 
would  consider  as  conveying  in  the  language  of  sincerity  the  * 
mind  of  a  most  just  and  upright  king,  who  in  his  love  of 
peace  rejoices  to  meet  similar  sentiments  in  the  breast  of  his 
Catholic  majesty,  and  who  has  been  graciously  pleased  to 
send  me  to  confer  with  his  excellency,  not  from  my  experi- 
ence in  negociation,  but  as  one  confidential  to  the  business 
in  all  its  stages,  and  zealously  devqied  to  conduct  it  to  an 
issue — "  I  proceed  to  say — That  "  as  this  visit  passed  av hol- 
ly in  expressions  of  civility,  I  shall  observe  no  further  to 
your  kji^hip  upon  it,  than  that  I  was  perfectly  well  pleased 
with  m^jpfeeption." 

If  in  any  one  part  of  my  conduct  or  conversation,  I  had 
advanced  a  step  beyonckthe  line  of  my  instructions,  or  va- 
ried from  them  in  a  sin^e  instance,  I  should  not  have  sought 
to  shelter  myself  under  the  peculiar  difficulties  of  my  situa- 
tion, I  must  have  met  the  reproof  I  merited,  and  was  certain 
to  receive  ;  but  when  I  was  arraigned  for  giving  credit  to 
sincerity,  when  it  did  exist,  and  being  doubtful  of  it,  when  it 
wavered,  as  I  was  not  conscious  of  an  error,  I  was  not  moved 
by  a  rej^Qof ;  but  witKimt  entering  into  anv  argumentation, 
unpr^JPble  and  extraneous,  applied  |fiy  utmost  diligence  to 
the  OTRiness  I  was  upon,  and  continued  to  dictate  to  Mr. 
Hussey  my  dispatches  for  England,  when  I  was  disabled  from 
writing  them  by  a  fractured  arm. 

The  instant  I  was  able  to  endure  the  motion  of  my  coach, 
I  attended  upon  the  minister  Florida  Blanca  at  San  Ilde- 
fonsb  :  D'pstaing  was  there,  in  high  favour  and  much  cares- 
sed ;  Hussey  was  not  permitted  to  accompany  me  ;  I  was 
alone,  and  closely  watchdd.  It  was  the  most  unfavourable 
momejit  that  I  passed  during  my  whole  residence  in  Spain. 
Florida  Blanca,  instead  of  taking  up  his  negociation  where 


W 


236  MEilOIRS  OF 


1 


he  left  it,  gave  little  credit  or  attention  to  the  letter  of  Lord 
Hillsborough,  but  evasively  adverted  to  certain  propositions 
which  he  had  made  before  I  came  into  Spain  and  transmitted^ 
through  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hussey,  to  which  propositions  he. 
observed  our  ministry  had  returned  no  answer — "  I  admitted 
that  no  answer  had  been  given  to  the  propositions  he  alluded^ 
to,  because  they  were  formed  upon  the  suggestions  of  Com- 
modore Johnstone  at  Lisbon  without  any  authority  :  it  was  a, 
matter  I  had  in  charge  to  disavow  those  overtures  in  the 
most  direct  terms  ;  they  neither  origina^l  with  the  cabi- 
net, nor  were  ever  before  it ;  but  if  he  c^nd  stand  in  need[ 
of  any  proof  to  satisfy  his  doubts  as  to  the  disposition  of  my 
^  court  towards  peace,  I  desired  him  to  recollect  that  I  had 
*been  sent  into  Spain  for  that  express  purpose,  without  any 
interchange  on  his  part,  and  against  the  formal  practice  of 
states  in  actual  war.—"  He  acknov/ledged  that  my  obser- 
vation w^asfair,  and  that  he  admitted  it,  but  he  again  reverted 
to  Commodore  Johnstone,  observing  "  That  although  he 
might  take  on  himse^'  to  make  unauthorized  propositions 
(which  by  the  way  he  must  think  was  strange  presumption^ 
and  still  more  strange  that  it  was  passed  over  with  impuni- 
ty) yet  he  said  that  he  answered  with  authority  tHAg|ropo- 
sitions  had  the  sanction  of  his  court,  and  a^s^i^HWoped 
they  merited  an  answer  fwm  mine."  It  was  now  ciear  to  me, 
when  he  was  driven  to  allude  to  th^e  unaccreditated  propo- 
sitions, that  evasion  v/as  his  only  ol^ect. 

"  Did  he  now  sefer  to  ^en\,"  I  asked,  '^  as  the  actual  ba- 
sis of  a  treaty  ? — " 

He  saw  no  reason  to  the  contrary. 

"  They  contained,"  I  said,  "  an  article  for  the  cession  of 
Gibraltar."  ^^  -•- 

They  did.  m      ^    ^^       ^ 

"  How  then  did  ^M\  a  stipulation  accord  with^|^ord 
given,  that  I  shouldPoe  subjected  to  no  requisition^p  that 
point  ?"  ^ 

He  was  now  evidently  embarrassed,  and  tui  ning  aside  In 
the  sub-minister  Campo,  held  some  conversation  with  him 
apart ;  he  then  resumed  his  discourc^  but  in  a  desultory 
way,  and  being  one  of  the  most  irritable  men  living,  was  so 
entirely  off  his  guard  as  to  let  out  nearly  the  whoje  of  Count 
D'Estaing's  intrigue,  and  plainly^  intimated  that  Gibraltar 
w^as  an  object,  for  which  the  king  his  master  would  break  the 
Family-Pact  and  every  other  engagement  with  France,  v/hich 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  237 

he  exemplified  by  stamping  the  very  paper  itself  under  his 
feet  upon  the  fiiarble  floor  ;  when  recollecting  himself  af- 
ter awhile,  and  composing  his  countenance  that  had  been 
distorted  with  agitation,  he  said — "  That  if  I  would  bind  him 
to  his  word  it  must  be  so.  However,  if  the  article  for  Gi- 
braltar was  inadmissible,  what  prevented  our  taking  the  re- 
maining propositions  into  consideration  ?" 

I  told  him,  and  with  truth,  that  I  had  seen  his  propositions, 
but  was  not  in  possession  of  them.  "  Would  he  put  them 
down  afresh  anciipin  me  in  discussing  them  ?" 

"  The  Abbe  liussey  had  his  original,  and  he  had  taken 
no  copy." 

As  I  recollected  enough  of  these  propositions  to  know  my-» 
self  restrained  from  treating  upon  them,  it  occurred  to  me, 
as  the  only  expedient  left  to  keep  the  treaty  alive,  to  consent 
to  his  sending  them  over  by  Mr.  Hussey,  who  was  now  be- 
come heartily  sick  of  his  situation,  and  catching  at  every 
possible  plea  for  his  returning  home.  Still  I  was  resolved 
that  the  proposal  of  sending  over  pro^lbMtions  of  that  sort  by 
Mr.  Hussey  should  not  originate  with  me,  though  I  was  per- 
fectly willing  to  acquiesce  in  it,  as  giving  my  ministers  the 
chancq|ft£^^ing  out  of  a  war,  v/hich  I  thought  good  policy 
would  i^BR^ave  sought  to  narrow  in  its  extent  than  to  wi- 
den, and  which  ever  since  I  hadbe^i  in  Spain,  presented  no- 
thing but  a  succession  c^disasters. 

This  expedient  of  gettmg  Mr.  Hussey  to  be  sent  home  by 
the  minister  with  propositions,  whjffeh,  though  upon  a  broader 
scale  of  treaty  than  my  instructions  allowed  me  to  embrace, 
were  yet  in  my  opinion  of  them  by  no  means  inadmissible, 
appeared  to  me  the  best  I  could  resort  to  in  the  present  mo- 
ment. With  ^bis  ide||n  my  thoughts  I  asked  Count  Flo- 
rida Bl^ca  ifheknew^Re  mind  of  France,  and  whether  he 
was  i^Bpared'with  any  overtures  on 'lifer  part,  which  could 
be  trmsmitted. — I  put  this  question  experimentally  for  I  had 
obtained  pretty  full  inforrn^on  of  what  D'Estaing  had  been 
about.  '^ 

He  had  by  this  time  recovered  his  serenity,  and  with  great 
dSSbe ration  made  answer  to  n^e,  as  nearly  as  it  can  be  ren- 
dered, (for  he  always  spoke  in  his  own  mother-tonpuejjto 
this  effect^-'*  We  have  no  overtures  to  make  on  ti  e  paPp&i 
France^  France,  as  well  as  all  the  other  courts,  which  ha\^:|| 
representatives  here  resident,  has  been  very  inquisitive 
touching  your  business  in  this  place  ;  the  only  ansv,^r  given 


23S  mIMoIRS  of 

on  our  part  has  been,  that  the  Catholic  King  is  an  honour 
ble  monarch,  and  will  faithfully  observe  all  hi^engagementa^ 
on  the  faith  of  this  single  assertion  the  whole  matter  rests 
If  your  court  is  sincere  for  peace,  let  her  now  set  to  worK 
upon  that  business,  which  sooner  or  later  must  be  the  busi- 
ness of  all  parties.  We  will  honestly  and  ardently  second 
her  endeavours  ;  we  do  not  put  her  to  any  thing,  which  may 
revolt  her  dignity  ;  we  acknowledge  and  conceive  the  degree 
of  sensibility  (call  it  if  you  please  indignation)  which  she 
must  harbour  against  a  state  in  actual  alliaMe  with  the  rebel 
subjects  of  her  empire ;  let  her  act  with  tnat  dignity,  which 
is  her  due,  constantly  in  sight ;  but  let  her  meet  his  Catholic 
Majesty  in  his  disposition  for  finishing  a  war,  which  can  only 
exhaust  all  parties  ;  and  as  she  best  knows  what  her  own 
interests  will  admit,  let  her  suggest  such  terms,  as  she  would 
receive,  was  France  the  proponent,  and  let  her  ccjuple  them 
with  terms  for  Spain,  and  if  these  be  fair  and  reasonable  on 
both  sides,  and  such  as  Spain  in  her  particular  can  possibly 
accede  to,  the  Catholii^ing  will  close  with  her  on  his  own,- 
behalf,  and  exert  all  his  influence  with  his  ally  to  make  the 
peace^general.  This  is  an  arduous  and  delicate  business ; 
let  us  cordially  unite  our  endeavours  to  bring  it  foi^|.rd.  I 
shall  be  at  all  times  ready  to  confer  with  you  freel(PRa  with-' 
out  disguise,  and  let  no  difference  of  opinion  affect  our  per- 
sonal good  understanding."  ^ 

The  day  following  this  conference  Mr.  Hussey  arrived  at 
San  Ildefonso,  and  having  communicated  to  him  what  had 
passed  and  my  wish  for  his  going  to  England  with  the  minis- 
ter's proposition,  he  readily  agreed  to  it,  and  before  that  day 
passed  the  sub-minister  Campo  came  to  my  house  to  sound 
me  on  this  very  expedient,  managing  as  he  conceived  with 
great  finesse  to  induce  me  to  conselffto  what  in  fact  I  much 
desired,  and  expressing,  as  from  the  minister,  hi^d^nest 
hope  that  I  would  not  quit  Spain  in  the  interim.  UnplRisunt 
as  my  situation  was  now  become,  still  I  was  unwilling  to 
abandon  the  negociation,  as  I  knew  that  D'Estaing  was  on  his 
departure  for  Cadiz,  where  I  had  good  reason  to  believe  he 
would  lose  his  influence  and  forfeit  hisfpopularity.  I  then 
availed  myself  of  his  informers,  and  through  their  chan- 
nel gave  out  what  I  knew  would  come  to  his  ears,  and 
induce  him  to  think  that  my  negociation  was  totally 
desperate  :  accordingly  I  departed  from  San  Ildefonso, 
leaving  Mr.  Hussey  to  settle  propositions  with  the  minister. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  239 

I  aiid  the  day  following  my  return  to  Madrid,  D'Estaing  set 
\  out  for  liis  command  at  Cadiz.     Florida  Bkinca  offered  to 
communicate  to  me  copies  of  what  he  transmitted  by  Mr, 
j  Hussey,  but  for  obvious  reasons  I  declined  his  offer. 

D'Estaing  at  Cadiz  soon  lost  all  the  interest  he  had  gained 
I  at  Court.     He  put  to  sea  with  his  fleet  against  the  protest  of 
i  the  Spanish  admiral,  and  with  circumstances  that  rendered 
I  him  completely  unpopular.     The  British  fleet  under  admi- 
ral Darby  was  at  sea  in  his  track  ;  the  French  ships  were  in 
I  the  worst  condition  imaginable,  but  our  fleet  did  not  avail  it- 
I  self  of  the  opportunity  for  bringing  them  to  action,  and  they 
i  reached  their  port  without  exch.anging  a  shot.     How  justi- 
!  fiable  this  was  on  our  part  I  will  not  doubt,  how  disappointing 
it  was  even  to  Spain,  whose  wishes  had  by  this  time  turned 
about,  and  how  derogatory  in  her  opinion  to  the  credit  of  our 
i  arms,  1  can  truly  witness. 

I      I  had  now  manoeuvred  the  Abbe  Hussey  into  a  mission, 
I  the  most  acceptable  to  him  that  could  be  devised,  as  it  took 
him  out  of  Spain,  and  liberated  him  from  the  necessity  of 
I  acting  a  part  which  he  could  no  longer  have  sustained  with 
;  any  credit  to  himself;  for  it  was  only  whilst  the  treaty  was 
I  in  train  Avith  the  sincere  good  will  of  Spain  that  he  could  be 
I  truly  cordial  in  the  cause  :  w^hen  unforeseen  events  occurred 
'  to  check  and  interrupt  the  progress  of  it,  his  sagacity  did 
not  fail  to  discover  that  he  could  no  longer  preserve  a  middle 
interest  with  both  parties,  but  must  be  hooked  into  a  dilem- 
ma of  choosing  his  side  ;  which  that  would  have  been  when 
duplicity  must  have  been  thrown  off,  was  a  decision  he  did 
not  wish  to  come  to,  tiiough  I  perhaps  can  conjecture  where 
it  would  have  led  him.     He  had  no  great  prejudices  for 
I  England  ;  Ireland  was  his  native  country,  but  even  that  and 
the  whole  world  had  been  renounced  by  him  when  he  threw 
himself  into  the  oblivious  convent  of  La  Trappe,  and  was 
only  dragged  from  out  his  cell  by  force  and  the  emancipat- 
ing authority  of  the  Pope  himself.     Whilst  he  was  here  dig- 
ging his  own  grave,  and  consigning  himself  to  perpetual  ta- 
citurnity, he  w^as  a  very  young  man,  high  in  blood,  of  athle- 
tic strength,  and  built  as  if  to  see  a  century  to  its  end.     It 
was  not  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion,  no  holy  raptures,  that 
inspired  him  with  this  desperate  resolution  :  it  was  tl.e  sple- 
'  netic  effect  of  disappointed  passion :  and  such  was  the  change 
which  a  short  time  had  wrought  in  him,  that  father  Robin- 
son, the  worthy  priest  with  v/hom  he  afterwards  cohabited, 


240  MEMOIRS  OF 

told  me,  that  Avhen  he  attended  the  order  for  his  deliverancf 
he  could  hardly  ascerttiin  his  person,  especially  as  he  pei| 
sisted  to  asseverate  in  the  strongest  terms  that  he  was  in  ' 
the  man  they  were  in  search  of. 

When  he  came  forth  again  into  the  world,  with  passioni 
rather  suspended  than  subdued,  I  am  inclined  to  think  h 
considered  himself  as  forced  upon  a  scene  of  action  wher 
he  was  to  play  his  part  with  as  much  finesse  and  dissimula*- 
tion  as  suited  his  interest,  or  furthered  his  ambition  ;  and 
this  he  probably  reconciled  to  his  conscience  by  a  commo- 
dious kind  of  casuistry,  in  which  he  was  a  true  adept. 

lie  w^ore  upon  his  countenance  a  smile  sufficiently  seduc- 
tive for  common  purposes  and  cursory  acquaintance  ;  his 
address  was  smooth,  obsequious,  studiously  obliging,  and  at 
times  glowingly  heightened  into  an  impassioned  show  of 
friendship  and  affection.  He  was  quick  enough  in  finding 
out  the  characters  of  men,  and  the  openings  through  which 
they  were  assailable  to  flattery  ;  but  he  was  not  equally  suc- 
cessful in  his  mode  of  tempering  and  applying  it ;  for  he 
was  vain  of  showing  his  triumph  over  inferior  understand- 
ings, and  could  not  help  colouring  his  attentions  oftentimes 
with  such  a  florid  hue,  as  gave  an  air  of  irony  and  ridicule 
that  did  not  always  escape  detection ;  and  thus  it  came  to 
pass  that  he  was  little  credited  (and  perhaps  even  less  than 
he  deserved  to  be)  for  sincerity  in  his  warmest  professions, 
or  politeness  in  his  best  attempts  to  please. 

As  I  am  persuaded  that  he  left  behind  him  in  his  coflin  at 
La  Trappe  no  one  passion,  native  or  engrafted,  that  belonged 
to  him  when  he  entered  it,  ambition  lost  no  hold  upon  his 
heart,  and  of  course  I  must  believe  that  the  station  which 
he  filled  in  Spain,  and  the  high-sounding  titles  and  dignities 
which  the  favour  of  his  Catholic  Majesty  might  so  readily 
endow  him  with,  w^ere  to  him  such  lures,  as,  though  but 
feathers,  outweighed  English  guineas  in  his  balance  ;  for  of 
these  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  he  was  indignantly 
regardless  ;  but  to  the  honours  that  his  church  could  give^ 
to  the  mitre  of  Waterford,  though  merely  titular,  it  is  clear 
to  demonstration  he  had  no  repugnance. 

He  made  profession  of  a  candour  and  liberality  of  senti- 
ment bordering  almost  upon  downright  protestanism,  whilst 
in  heart  he  was  as  high  a  priest  as  Thomas  a  Becket,  and 
as  stiff  a  catholic,  though  he  ridiculed  their  mummeries,  as 
ever  kissed  the  cross.     He  did  not  exactly  want  to  stir  up 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  241 

petty  insurrections  in  his  native  country  of  Ireland,  but  to 
head  a  revokition,  that  should  overturn  the  church  establish- 
ed, and  enthrone  himself  primate  in  the  cathedral  of  Armagh, 
would  have  been  his  brightest  glory  and  supreme  felicity  : 
and  in  truth  he  was  a  man  by  talents,  nerves,  ambition,  in- 
trepidity, fitted  for  the  boldest  enterprise. 

After  he  had  negociated  my  introduction  into  Spain,  and 
set  the  treaty  on  foot,  the  very  first  check,  which  it  received 
by  the  disturbances  in  London,  left  me  very  little  hope  of 
further  help  from  him  ;  but  when  the  prospect  was  darken- 
ed by    accumulated    clouds,   and    he    discovered    nothing 
through  the  gloom  of  my  embarrassed  situation  but  a  totter- 
ing ministry,  a  discontented  people,  an  unquiet  capital,  our 
trading  fleets  captured,  our  fighting  fleets  no  longer  worthy 
of  the  name  ;  when  he  saw  Spain  assume  a  proud  and  con- 
quering attitude,  and  (buoyed  up  by  the  promises  of  France) 
blockading  Gibraltar  and  preparing  for  the  actual  siege  of  it, 
he  began  to  perceive  he  had  engaged  himself  in  a  most  un- 
pi'omising  intrigue,  and  readily  lent  his  ear  to  those,  that 
were  at  hand  and  ready  to  intrigue  him  out  of  it.     He  was 
assidious  in  his  homage  to  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  and  in 
the  closest  intimacy  and  communication  with  the  minister 
of  the  Elector  of  Treves,  and  all  at  once,  without  the  small- 
est cause  of  oflence,  or  any  reason  that  I  could  possibly  di- 
vine, changed  his  behaviour  as  an  inmate  of  my  family,  and 
from  the  warmest  and  most  unreserved  attachment  that  man 
ever  professed  to  man,  took  up  a  character  of  the  severest 
gloom  and  sullenness,  for  which  he  would  assign  no  cause, 
but  to  all  my  inquiries,  all  my  remonstrances,  was  either 
obstinately  silent,  or  evasively  uncommunicative.     He  would 
stay  no  longer,  he  was  resolved  to  demand  his  passports, 
and  actually  wrote  to  Del-Campo  to  that  purpose.     To  this 
demand  an  ansv/er  was  returned,  refusing  him  the  passports 
until   he  had  leave  from  Lord  Hillsborough  for  quitting 
Spain,  which  it  was  at  the  same  time  observed  to  him  could 
not  be  for  his  reputation  to  do  in  the  depending  state  of  the 
business  on  which  he  came.   Upon  this  he  proceeded  to  write 
a  short  letter  to  Lord  Hillsborough,  demanding  leave  to  re- 
turn :  he  was  not  hardy  enough  to  dispatch  this  letter  without 
communicating  it  to  me  for  my  opinion :  I  gave  it  peremp- 
torily against  his  sending  it :  I  stated  to  him  my  reasons 
why  I  thought  both  the  measure  and  the  mode  decidedly 
improper  and  dishonourable  ;  he  grew  extremely  warm,  and 
.        w 


242  MEMOIRS  OF 

so  intemperate,  that  I  found  it  necessary  to  tell  him,  if  he 
persisted  in  demanding  his  return  of  the  secretary  of  state 
in  those  terms,  that  it  would  oblige  me  to  Vvrite  home  in 
my  own  justification,  and  also  to  enter  upon  explanations 
"vvith  the  Spanish  Minister,  who  might  else  impute  his  con- 
duetto  a  cabal  with  me,  though  it  was  so  directly  against  my 
judgment  and  my  wishes.  I  declared  to  him  that  I  had  not 
written  a  line,  or  taken  a  step  without  his  privity,  and  that  no 
one  word  had  ever  passed  my  lips,  but  what  was  dictated  by 
sincere  regard  and  consideration  for  him,  and  this  was  so- 
lemnly and  strictly  true  :  I  said  that  I  observed  he  had  alter- 
ed his  behaviour  towards  me  and  my  family,  which  he  could 
not  deny,  and  I  added  that  this  proceeding  must  not  only 
ruin  him  with  the  mxinister  of  Spain,  but  was  such  as  might 
be  highly  prejudicial  to  my  business,  unless  I  took  every  pru- 
dent precaution  to  explain  and  avert  the  mischief  it  was 
pregnant  with.  The  consequence  of  this  conversation  was, 
that  he  did  not  send  his  letter  to  Lord  Hillsborough,  but  as 
he  was  not  explicit  on  that  point,  I  prepared  myself  with  a 
letter  to  Lord  Hillsborough,  and  another  to  Del-Campo,  ex- 
plana,tory  of  his  conduct,  which  upon  his  assuring  me  on  our 
next  meeting  that  he  would  not  write  to  England,  I  also 
forbore  to  send.  Upon  the  following  day,  without  any  cause 
assigned  or  explanation  given,  my  late  sullen  associate  met 
me  with  a  smiling  countenance,  and  was  as  perfectly  an  al- 
tered man,  as  if  he  had  come  a  second  time  out  of  the 
cloisters  of  La  Trappe.  He  was  in  fact  a  most  profound 
casuist,  and  a  confessor  of  the  highest  celebrity. 

I  cannot  say  th%  caprice  of  Mr  Hussey  gave  me  much 
concern,  ©r  created  in  me  any  extraordinary  surprise, 
though  I  could  never  thoroughly  develope  the  cause  of  it ; 
yet  at  that  very  time  my  life  was  brought  into  imminent 
danger  by  the  unskilfulness  of  the  surgeons,  who  attended 
upon  me  in  consequence  of  my  having  received  a  very  seri- 
ous injury  by  a  fall  from  one  of  my  Portuguese  mules.  I 
was  riding  on  the  Pardo  road,  wiien  the  animal  took  fright, 
and  in  the  act  of  stopping  him  the  bit  broke  asunder  in  his 
mouth.  In  this  state,  being  under  no  command,  he  ran 
with  violence  against  an  equipage  draAvn  by  six  mules 
that  was  passing  along  the  road  in  a  train  with  many 
others.  In  the  concussion  I  came  to  the  ground  ;  the 
carriage  fortunately  stopped  short,  and  I  was  lifted  into  it 
stunned  with  the  shock  and  for  a  time  insensible.    I  was 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  243 

bleeding  at  the  elbow,  where  the  skin  was  torn,  and  upon 
recoverhig  my  senses  I  found  myself  supported  by  my  wife 
in  her  chariot,  and  probably  indebted  to  her  drivers  for  my 
life.  Though  I  had  cause  to  tremble  for  the  consequences 
of  the  violent  alarm  I  had  given  her,  as  she  was  now  very 
near  her  time,  yet  in  other  respects  it  was  a  fortunate  and 
extraordinary  chance,  that  my  accident  should  have  tlirowii 
me  immediately  into  her  protection,  who  lost  not  an  instant 
of  tiilie  in  conveying  me  home.  Two  surgeons,  sucji  as 
Madrid  could  furnish,  were  called  in  and  speedily  arrived, 
but  for  no  other  purpose,  as  it  seemed,  except  to  dispute 
and  wrangle  with  each  other  upon  the  question  if  the  arm 
was  fractured  at  the  shoulder  or  at  the  elbow,  whilst  each 
alternately  twisted  and  tortured  it  as  best  suited  him  in  sup- 
port of  his  opinion.  In  the  height  of  their  controversy  a 
third  personac;e  made  his  appearance  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Guardes  de  Corps,  being  chief  surgeon  of  that  corps  and 
sent  to  me  by  authority.  This  gentleman  silenced-both,  but 
agreed  with  neither,  for  he  pronounced  the  bone  to  be  split 
longitudinally  from  the  shoulder  to  the  elbow,  and  finding 
it  by  this  time  extremely  swelled  and  inflamed,  very  pro- 
perly observed  that  no  operation  could  be  performed  upon  it 
in  that  state.  He  proceeded  therefore  to  bathe  it  liberally 
with  an  embrocation,  which  he  affirmed  was  sovereign  for 
the  purpose,  but  if  his  object  was  to  reduce  the  swelling  and 
assuage  the  inflammation,  the  learned  gentleman  was  most 
egregiously  mistaken,  for  the  fiery  spirit  of  the  rum,  with 
which  he  fomented  it,  soon  increased  ^th  to  so  violent  a 
degree  with  such  a  raging  erysipelas  arin  a  few  days  had 
every  symptom  of  a  mortification  actually  commencing, 
when  the  case  being  pressing,  my  wife,  whose  presence  of 
mind  never  deserted  her  in  danger,  took  the  prudent  mea- 
sure of  dismissing  the  whole  trio  of  ignoramuses,  and  call- 
ing to  her  assistance  a  modest  rational  practitioner  in  our 
near  neighbourhood,  v/ho  under  the  sign  of  a  brass-bason 
professed  the  sister  arts  of  shaving  and  surgery  conjointly, 
by  reversing  the  practice  so  injurious  and  applying  the  barky 
rescued  me  from  their  hands,  and  under  Providence  preserv- 
ed my  life. 

Here  I  must  take  leave  to  digress  a  little  from  the  tenour 
of  my  tale,  whilst  I  record  an  anecdote,  in  it^self  of  no  other 
material  interest  except  as  it  enables  me  to  state  one 
amongst  the  many  reasons,  which  I  have  to  love  and  revere 


244  MEMOIRS  OF 

the  memory  of  a  deceased  friend,  who  devoted  to  me  thi 
evening  of  every  day  vt^ithout  the  exception  of  one,  vehich  l' 
passed  during  my  residence  in  Madrid.  This  excellent  old 
ipan,  Patrick  Curtis  by  name,  and  by  birth  an  Irishman, 
had  been  above  half  a  century  settled  in  Spain,  domestic 
priest  and  occasionally  preceptor  to  three  successive  Dukes 
of  Osuna.  In  this  situation  he  had  been  expressly  the 
founder  of  the  fortunes  of  the  Premier  Florida  Blanca,  by 
recommending  him  as  advocate  to  the  employ  and  patronage 
of  that  rich  and  noble  house.  The  Abbe  Don  Patricio  Cur- 
tis was  of  course  looked  up  to  as  a  person  of  no  small  consi- 
deration ;  he  was  also  not  less  conspicuous  and  universally 
respected  for  his  virtues,  for  his  high  sense  of  honour,  his 
bold  sincerity  of  speech  and  generous  benignity  of  soul ;  but 
this  good  man  at  the  same  time  had  such  an  over-abundant 
portion  of  the  aynor  fiatrics  about  him,  was  so  marked  a  devo- 
tee to  the  British  interest  and  so  unreserved  an  opponent  to 
that  of  France,  that  it  seemed  to  demand  more  circumspec- 
tion than  he  was  disposed  to  bestow  for  guarding  himself 
against  the  resentment  of  a  party,  whose  principles  he  ar- 
raigned without  mitigation,  and  whose  power  he  set  at  open 
defiance  without  caution  or  reserve.  •  Though  considerably^ 
past  eighty,  his  affections  were  as  ardent  and  his  feelings  a!^ 
quick  as  if  he  had  not  reached  his  twentieth  year.  When  I 
was  supposed  to  be  out  of  chance  of  recovery  this  affectionate 
creature  came  to  me  in  an  agony  of  grief  to  take  his  last  fare- 
well He  told  me  he  had  been  engaged  in  fervent  prayer 
and  intercession  ,on  my  behalf,  and  had  pledged  before  the 
altar  his  most  earnest  and  devoted  services  for  the  consola- 
tion and  protection  of  my  beloved  wife  and  daughters,  if  it 
should  please  Heaven  to  remove  me  from  them  and  reject 
his  humble  supplications  for  my  life  :  he  lamented  that  I  had 
no  spiritual  assistant  of  my  own  church  to  resort  to  ;  he  did 
not  mean  to  obtrude  his  forms,  to  which  I  was  not  accustom- 
ed, but  on  the  contrary  came  purposely  to  tender  me  his 
services  according  to  my  owh  ;  and  was  ready,  if  I  would 
furnish  him  with  my  prayer  book,  and  allow  him  to  secure 
the  doors  from  any  that  might  intrude  or  over-hear  to  the 
peril  of  his  life,  to  administer  the  sacrament  to  me  exact- 
ly as  it  is  ordained  by  our  church,  requesting  only  that  I 
w^ould  reach  the  cup  with  my  own  hand,  and  not  employ 
his  to  tender  it  to  me.  All  this  he  fulfilled,  omitting  none 
of  the  prayers  appointed,  and  officiating  in  the  most  devout 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  245 

impressive  manner,  (though  at  times  interrupted  and  over- 
come by  extreme  sensibility)  to  my  very  great  comfort  and 
satisfaction.  Had  the  office  of  Inquisition,  whose  terrific 
mansion  stood  within  a  few  paces  of  my  gates,  had  report 
of  this  which  passed  in  my  heritical  chamber,  my  poor 
friend  would  have  breathed  out  the  short  remnant  of  his 
days  between  two  walls,  never  to  be  heard  of  more.  From 
six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  till  ten  at  night  he  never  foiled 
to  occupy  the  chair  next  to  me  in  my  evening  circle,  and 
though  I  saw  with  infinite  concern  that  his  constitution 
was  rapidly  breaking  up  for  the  laSt  six  or  seven  weeks  of 
my  stay,  no  persuasion  could  keep  hmi  from  coming  to  me 
and  exposing  his  declining  health  to  the  night  air ;  at  last 
when  I  was  recalled  and  had  fixed  the  day  for  my  departure, 
dreading  the  effect,  which  the  act  of  parting  forever  might 
have  upon  his  exhausted  frame,  I  endeavoured  to  impose 
upon  him  a  later  hour  of  the  morning  than  I  meant  to  take 
for  my  setting  out,  and  enjoined  strict  secrecy  to  all  my  par- 
ty :  but  these  precautions  were  in  vgtm  ;  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  when  I  entered  the  receiving  room  I  found  my 
poor  old  friend  alone  and  waiting,  with  his  arms  extended 
to  em.brace  me  and  bathed  in  tears,  scarcely  able  to  support 
himself  on  his  tottering  legs,  now  miserably  tumified,  a 
spectacle  that  cut  My  heart  to  the  quick,  and  perfectly  un- 
manned me.  He  had  purchased  a  number  of  masses  of 
some  pious  medicants,  which  he  hoped  would  be  efficacious 
and  avail  for  our  well  doing  :  he  had  no  great  faith  in  amu- 
lets, he  told  me,  yet  he  had  brought  me^a  ring  of  Mexican 
workmanship  and  materials,  Very  ancient  and  consecrated 
and  blessed  by  a  venerable  patriarch  of  the  Indies,  since  can- 
onized for  his  miracles  ;  wiiich  ring  had  been  highly  pHzed 
by  the  late  Duchess  of  Osuna  for  its  efficacy  in  preserving 
her  from  thunder  and  lightning,  and  though  be  did  not  pre- 
sume to  think  that  I  would  place  the  slightest  confidence  in 
its  virtue,  yet  he  hoped  I  wourld  let  him  bestow  it  on  the  per-^ 
son  of  the  infant  daughter,  which  w^as  born  to  me  in  Spain, 
whom  I  then  gave  into  his  arms,  whilst  he  invoked  a  thou- 
sand blessings  upon  her.  He  brought  a  very  fiine  crucifix 
cut  in  ivory  ;  he  said  he  h?A  put  up  his  laat  prayers  before 
it,  and  had  nothing  more  to  do  but  to  lie  down  on  his  bed 
and  die,  which  as  soon  as  I  depaited  he  was  prep^ired  to  do^ 
sensible  that  his  last  hour  w  as  near  at  hand,  and  that  he 
should  survive  our  separation  a  very  few  days*    I  prevailed 

W    2 


246  MEMOIRS  OF 

\vith  him  to  retain  his  crucifix,  but  I  accepted  an  exquisite 
Ecce  Homo  by  El  Divino  Morales,  and  exchanged  a  token 
of  remembrance  with  him  ;  I  saw  him  led  out  of  my  house 
to  that  of  the  Duke  of  Osuna  near  at  hand,  and  whilst  I  was 
yet  on  my  journey  the  intelligence  reached  me  of  his  death, 
and  may  the  God  of  mercy  receive  him  into  bliss  ! 

When  I  had  so  far  advanced  in  my  recovery  as  to  be  able 
to  wear  my  arm  in  a  sling,  and  endure  the  motion  of  a  car- 
riage, I  dispatched  my  servant  Camis  to  San  Ildefonso,  and 
proposed  to  the  minister  a  conference  with  him  there  upon 
the  supposed  mediation  of  Russia,  on  which  he  had  thought 
fit  to  sound  me.  My  servant^^tumed,  bringing  a  letter 
from  the  sub-minister  Campo,  in  which  he  signified  the 
fninister*s  wish  that  I  would  consent  to  defer  my  visit,  but 
adds  that  "  If  I  think  otherwise  I  shall  always  be  welcome — '* 
I  well  knew  to  whom  and  to  what  I  was  indebted  for  this  let- 
ter, and  naturally  was  not  pleased  with  it,  yet  I  thought  it 

best  and  most  prudent  to  answer  it  as  follows 

"  To  Senor  Don  Bernardo  Del  Campo.^* 
"  Dear  Sir, 

"  My  servant  returned  with  your  letter  of  this 
day  in  time  to  prevent  my  setting  out  for  San  Ildefonso. 

"  When  I  tell  you  that  it  is  with  pleasure  I  accommodate 
myself  to  the  wishes  of  Count  Florida  Blanca,  I  not  only 
consult  my  own  disposition,  but  I  am  persuaded  I  conform 
to  that  of  my  court,  and  of  the  minister,  under  whose  imme- 
diate instructions  I  am  acting.  The  reconciliation  of  our 
respective  nations  is  an  object,  which  I  look  to  with  such 
cordial  devotion,  that  I  v/ould  on  no  account  interpose  my- 
self in  a  moment  unacceptible  to  your  court  for  any  consid- 
eration short  of  my  immediate  duty.  I, am  persuaded  there 
is  that  honour  and  good  faith  in  the  councils  of  Spain,  and 
in  the  minister,  v/ho  directs  them,  that  I  shall  not  suffer  in 
his  esteem  by  this  proof  of  my  acquiescence,  and  I  know 
too  v/eli  the  sincerity  of  my  own  court  to  apprehend  for  the 
part  I  have  taken. 

''  At  the  same  time  that  I  signify  to  you  my  acquiescence 
as  above  stated,  I  think  my  predicament  thereby  becomes 
such  as  to^require  an  immediate  report  to  my  court,  and  I 
desire  you  will  request  of  his  excellency  Count  Florida 
Blanca  to  send  me  a  blank  passport,  to  be  filled  up  by  me 
■with  tlie  name  of  such  person,  as  I  may  find  convenient  to 
dispatch  to  England  by  the  way  of  Lisbon. 

1  am,  S^c.  R.  CJ' 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  247 

This  letter  produced  a  most  courteous  invitation,  and 
thence  ensued  those  conferences  already  described,  which 
separated  Mr.  Hussey  from  me,  and  sent  him  home  with 
propositions,  which  my  instructions  did  not  allow  me  to 
discuss.  By  this  chasm  in  the  business  I  was  upon,  I 
found  myself  so  far  at  leisure,  that  I  was  tempted  to  in- 
dulge my  curiosity  by  a  visit  to  the  Escurial,  and  accord- 
ingly set  out  for  that  singular  place  with  a  letter  from 
the  minister  to  the  Prior,  signifying  the  king's  pleasure 
that  I  should  have  free  access  to  the  manuscripts,  and 
every  facility,  that  could  be  given  to  my  researches  of 
whatever  description.  I  had  been  informed  by  Sir  John 
Dalrymple  of  a  curious  manuscript,  purporting  to~~be  let- 
ters of  Brutus,  to  which  he  could  not  get  access  ;  these  let- 
ters are  written  in  Greek,  and  are  referred  to  by  Doctor 
Bentley  in  his  controversy  with  Boyle  as  notoriously  spu- 
rious, fabricated  by  the  Sophists,  of  which  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  I  obtained  a  sight  of  the  manuscript,  and  the  fathers 
favoured  me  with  a  copy  of  the  Greek  original,  and  also  of 
the  Latin  translation  by  Petrarch.  I  have  them  by  me,  but 
they  are  good  for  nothing,  and  bear  decided  evidence  of  an 
imposture.  This  the  worthy  father,  who  introduced  him- 
self to  me  as  librarian  and  professor  of  the  learned  languages, 
discovered  by  a  very  curious  process,  observing  to  me  that 
these  could  not  be  the  true  letters  of  Brutus,  forasmuch  as 
they  profess  to  have  been  written  after  the  death  of  Julius 
Caesar,  which  he  had  found  out  to  be  a  flagrant  anachronism, 
assuring  me  that  Brutus,  having  died  before  Caesar,  could 
not  be  feigned  to  have  written  letters  after  the  decease  of 
the  man  who  survived  him.  When  I  apologized  for  my 
hesitation  in  admitting  his  chronology,  and  asked  him  if  Bru- 
tus w^as  not  suspected  of  having  a  hand  in  the  murder  of 
Caesar,  he  owned  that  lie  had  heard  of  it,  but  that  it  was  a 
mere  fable,  and  hastening  to  his  cell  brought  me  down  a 
huge  folio  chronology,  following  me  into  the  court,  and 
pointing  out  the  page,  where  I  might  read  my  own  convic- 
tion. I  thanked  him  for  his  solicitude,  and  assured  him  that 
his  authority  was  quite  sufficient  for  the  fact,  and  recollect- 
ing how  few  enjoyments  he  probably  had  in  that  lugubrous 
mansion,  left  him  in  possession  of  his  victory  and  triumph. 

I  took  nobody  with  me  to  the  Escurial  but  my  servants 
and  a  Milanese  traiteur,  who  opened  an  empty  hotel, 
and  provided  me  with  a  chamber  and  my  food.  There 
wxre  indeed  myriads  of  annoying  insects,  who  had  kept  un- 


248  MEMOIRS  OF 

interrupted  possession  of  their  quarters,  against  whom  I  had 
noway  of  guarding  myself  but  by  planting  my  portable  crilj^ 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  its  legs  immersed  in  pails 
of  water.  The  court  was  expected,  but  not  yet  arrived,  ^nir,} 
the  place  was  a  perfect  solitude,  so  that  I  had  the  best  posSJI 
sible  opportunity  of  viewing  this  immense  edifice  at  my  easS  ' 
and  leisure.  1  am  not  about  to  describe  it ;  assuredly  it  is 
one  of  the  most  wondrous  monuments  that  bigotry  has  ever 
dedicated  to  the  fulfilment  of  a  vow.  Yet  there  is  no  grace 
in  the  external,  which  owes  its  power  of  striking  to  the  im- 
mensity of  its  mass :  the  architect  has  been  obliged  to  sa- 
crifice beauty  and  proportion  to  security  against  the  incre- 
dible hurriofines  of  wind,  which  at  times  sweep  down  from 
the  mountains  that  surround  it ;  of  a  scenery  inore  savage, 
nature  hardly  has  a  sample  to  produce  upon  the  habitable 
globe  :  yet  within  this  gloomy  and  enormous  resceptacle, 
there  is  abundant  food  for  curiosity  in  paintings,  books  and 
consecrated  treasures  exceeding  all  description.  There  is 
a  vast  and  inestimable  collection  of  pictures,  and  the  great 
masters,  whose  works  were  in  my  poor  judgment  decidedly 
the  most  prominent  and  attractive,  are  Raphael,  Titian, 
Rubens,  Velasquez  and  Coello,  of  which  the  two  last  were 
natives  of  Spain  and  by  no  means  unworthy  to  be  classed 
with  the  three  former.  Of  Raphael  there  are  but  four  pre- 
eminent specimens,  of  which  the  famous  Perla  is  one,  but 
hung  very  disadvantageously  :  of  Titian  there  is  a  splendid 
abundance  ;  of  Rubens  not  many,  but  some  that  shew  him 
to  have  been  a  mighty  master  of  the  passions,  and  speak  to 
the  heart  with  incredible  effect ;  they  throw  the  gauntlet 
to  the  proudest  of  the  Italian  schools,  and  seem  to  leave 
Vandyke  behind  him  almost  out  of  sight :  of  Velasquez, 
if  there  was  none  other  than  his  composition  of  Jacob,  when 
his  sons  are  showing  him  the  coat  of  Joseph,  it  would  be 
enough  to  rank  him  with  the  highest  in  his  art :  Coello's 
fame  may  safely  rest  upon  his  inimitable  alter-piece  in 
the  private  chapel.  Were  it  put  to  me  to  single  out  for  my 
choice  two  compositions,  and  only  two,  from  out  the  whole 
inestimable  collection,  I  would  take  Titian's  Last  Supper 
in  the  refectory  for  my  first  prize,  and  this  altar-piece  of 
Coello's  for  my  second,  leaving  the  Perla  and  Madona  del 
Pesce  of  Raphael,  the  Dead  Christ  of  Reubens,  and  the  Jo- 
seph of  Velasquez  with  longing  and  regret,  but  lea\'ing- 
tliem  notwithstanding. 

The  Court  removed  from  San  Ildefonso  to  the  Escuriul  u\ 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  24^ 

a  few  days  after  I  had  been  there,  and  I  was  invited  to  bring 
my  family  thither,  which  accordingly  I  did.  My  reception 
here  was  very  different  from  what  I  had  experienced  at  San 
Ildcfonso.  The  king,  one  of  the  best  tempered  men  living, 
was  particularly  gracious  ;  in  walking  through  his  apart- 
ments in  the  Escurial,  I  surprised  him  in  his  bed-chamber : 
the  good  man  had  been  on  his  knees  before  his  private  altar, 
and  upon  the  opening  of  the  door,  rose  ;  when  seeing  me 
in  the  act  of  re  tiring,  he  bade  me  stay,  and  condescended  to 
shew  me  some  very  curious  South-American  deer,  extreme- 
ly small  and  elegantly  formed,  which  he  kept  under  a  net- 
ting ;  and  amongst  others  a  little  green  monkey,  the  most 
diminutive  and  most  beautiful  of  its  species  I  had  ever  seen. 
He  also  shewed  me  the  game  he  had  shot  that  morning  of 
various  sorts  from  the  bocafic^^^'-'to  the  vulture.  He  was  alone, 
and  seemed  to  take  peculiar  pleasure  in  gratifying  our  curi- 
osity. No  monarch  could  well  be  more  humbly  lodged,  for 
his  state  consisted  in  a  small  camp-bed,  miserably  equipped 
with  faded  curtains  of  old  damask,  that  had  once  been  crim- 
son, and  a  cushion  of  the  same  by  his  bedside,  with  a  table, 
that  held  his  crucifix  and  prayer  book,  and  over  that  a  three- 
quarters  picture  of  the  Mater -dolorosa  by  Titian,  which  he 
always  carried  with  him  for  his  private  altar-piece  ;  of  which 
picture  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  procure  a  very  perfect 
copy  by  an  old  Spanish  master  (Coello  as  I  suspect)  upon 
the  same  sized  cloth,  and  very  hardly  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  original.  This  picture  I  brought  home  with  me, 
and  it  is  now  in  my  possession.  His  majesty's  dress  was, 
like  his  person,  plain  and  homely  ;  a  buff  leather  waistcoat, 
breeches  of  the  same,  and  old-fashioned  boots  (made  in  Pall 
Mall)  with  a  plain  drab  coat,  covered  with  snuff  and  dust,  a 
bad  wig  and  a  worse  hat  constituted  his  wardrobe  for  the 
chace,  and  there  were  very  few  days  in  the  year,  when  he  de- 
nied himself  that  recreation. 

The  Prince  of  Asturias,  now  the  reigning  sovereign,  was 
always  so  good  as  to  notice  the  respect  I  duly  paid  him  with 
the  most  flattering  and  marked  attejition.  He  spoke  of  me 
and  to  me  with  distinguished  kindness,  and  caused  it  to  be 
signified  to  me,  that  he  was  sorry  circumstances  of  etiquette 
did  not  allow  him  to  shew  me  those  more  pointed  proofs  of 
his  regard,  by  which  it  was  his  wish  to  make  appear  the 
good  opinion  he  was  pleased  to  entertain  of  me.  Such  a 
testimony  from  a  prince  of  his  reserved  and  distant  cast  of 


250  MEMOIRS  OF 

character  was  to  be  valued  for  its  sincerity.  On  my  way 
from  San  Ildefonso  to  Segovia  one  morning  at  an  early  hour,, 
as  I  was  mounting  a  hill,  that  opened  that  extensive  plain  ti|l 
my  view,  I  discovered  a  party  of  horsemen  and  the  princA 
considerably  advanced  before  them  at  the  full  speed  of  hh 
horse  ;  I  had  just  time  to  order  my  chariot  out  of  the  roat^ 
and  halt  it  under  some  cork  trees  by  the  way -side,  and  a<> 
cording  to  my  custom  I  got  out  to  pay  him  my  res- 
pects. The  prince  stopped  his  horse  upon  the  in- 
stant, and  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  v/heeled  him  about  to 
come  up  to  me,  when  the  high-spirited  animal  either  re- 
senting the  manc^uvre,  or  taking  fright,  as  it  seemed  at  the 
gleamy  reflection  of  my  grey  mules  half-covered  with  the 
cork  branches,  reared  and  wheeled  upon  his  hinder  legs  in 
a  most  alarming  manner.  ''J^he  prince  appeared  to  me  in 
such  imminent  danger,  that  I  was  about  to  seize  the  bit  of 
his  bridle,  but  he  was  much  too  complete  a  cavalier  to  accept 
of  assistance,  and  after  a  short  but  pretty  severe  contest, 
brought  his  horse  up  to  me  in  perfect  discipline,  and  with 
many  handsome  acknowledgments  for  the  anxiety  I  had 
shewn  on  his  accoupt,  in  a  very  gracious  manner  took  his 
leave,  and  pursued  his  road  to  San  Ildefonso  :  he  was  a  man 
of  vast  bodily  strength,  and  a  severe  rider :  the  fine  animal, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  I  had  seen  in  Spain,  sftewed  the 
wounds  of  the  spur  streaming  with  blood  down  his  glossy- 
white  sides  from  the  shoulder  to  the  flank. 

This  prince  had  a  small  but  elegant  pavilion  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  Escurial,  which  in  point  of  furniture 
and  pictures  was  a  perfect  gem  :  he  did  me  and  my  fami- 
ly the  honour  to  invite  us  to  see  it ;  at  the  appointed  hour 
we  found  it  prepared  for  our  reception,  with  a  table  set 
out  and  provided  with  refreshments  ;  some  of  the  offi- 
cers of  his  household  were  in  waiting  ;  the  Dukes  of  Al- 
va, Grenada,  Almpdovar  and  others  of  high  rank  accom- 
panied us  through  the  apartments,  and  when  I  returned  to 
my  hotel  at  the  Escurial,  the  prince's  secretary  called  on 
me  by  command  to  know  my  opinion  of  it.  There  could  be 
no  difficulty  in  delivering  that,  for  it  really  merited  all  the 
praise  that  I  bestowed  upon  it.  In  a  very  short  time  after, 
the  same  gentleman  returned  and  signified  the  prince's  ex- 
press desire  to  know  if  there  was  any  thing  in  the  style  of 
furniture,  that  struck  me  as  defective,  or  any  thing  I  could 
suggest  for  its  improvement.     With  the  like  sincerity  I 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  251 

nade  answer,  that  in  my  humble  opinion  the  fitting  of  the 
nrincipal  room  in  the  Chinese  style,  though  sufficiently  splen- 
lid,  was  not  in  character  with  the  rest  of  the  apartments,  that 
.vcrc  hung  round  with  some  of  the  finest  pictures  of  the  Spa- 
lish  and  Itali-ui  masters,  where  a  chaster  style  in  point  of 
i  ornament  liad  been  preserved. 

J  I  heard  no  more  o^  my  critique  for  some  days,  and  began 
5  o  suspect  that  I  had  made  my  court  very  ill  by  risquing  it, 
1  kvhen  another  message  called  me  to  review  the  complete 
I  r.liange,  which  that  apartment  had  undergone,  to  the  exclu- 
I  don  of  every  atom  of  Japan  work,  in  consequence  of  my 
(  remark. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  that  the  minister  Florida  Blanca 
i m  the  moment  of  that  flivour  and  popularity,  which  I  then 
;  enjoyed,  addressed  me  in  a  very  different  style  from  any  he 
I  had  ever  used,  and  with  an  air  of  mock  solemnity  charged 
me  with  having  practised  upon  the  heir  apparent   of  the 
'  crown  of  Spain  by  some  secret  charm,  or  love-fiowder^  to  the 
j  engagement  of  his  affections,  "  v/hich,"  said  he,  "  I  per- 
i '''  ceive  you  are  so  exclusively  possessed  of,  that  I  must  throw 
I ''  myself  on  your  protection,  and  request  you  to  preserve  to 
!  •'  me  some  place  in  Iiis  regard-—"     As  I  had  found  his  ex- 
1  ccllcncy  for  the  first  time  in  the  humour  for  raillery,  I  en- 
)  deavoured  to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  it  by  owning  to  the  love- 
i  Uovjder  ;  in  virtue  of  whichi  had  gained  that  power  over  the 
[  prince,  as  to  seize  the  bridle  of  his  horse,  and  arrest  him  on 
t  he  road,  which  led  me  to  relate  the  anecdote  of  our  rencoun- 
I  tcr  on  the  way  to  Segovia  above-described.     He  listened  to 
f  me  with  great  good  humour,  appearing  to  enjoy  my  narrative 
I  of  the  adventure,  and  at  the  conclusion  observed  to  me,  that 
my  life  was  forfeited  by  the  laws  of  Spain  ;  but  as  he  sup- 
posed I  had  no  evil  design  against  the  prince  himself,  but 
•  only  wanted  to  possess  myself  of  so  fine  a  charger,  as  an 
r  offering  to  my  excellent  and  royal  master,  whose  virtues 
I  made  his  life  and  safety  dear  to  all  the  world,  he  would  in 
1  confidence  disclose  to  me  that  order  was  given  out  by  his 
i  Catholic  Majesty  to  select  from  his  stud  in  the  Mancha  ten  of 
the  noblest  horses  that  could  be  chosen,  and  out  of  those,  up- 
t  en  trial  of  their  steadiness  and  temper,  to  select  two,  which 
i  I  might  tender  as  my  offering  to  the  acceptance  of  my  sove- 
reign ;  and  this  he  observed  was  a  present  never  before  made 
to  any  crowned  head  in  Europe  but  of  his  majesty's  own  im- 
mediate family,  alluding  to  the  King  of  Naples. 


^52  MEMOIRS  OF 

A  few  days  after  my  return  to  Madrid  this  gracious  pro- 
mise was  fulfilled,  and  two  horses  of  the  royarstud,  led  by 
the  king's  grooms  and  covered  by  cloths,  on  which  the  royal 
arms,  &c.  were  embroidered,  were  brought  into  the  inner 
court  of  my  house,  and   there  delivered  to  me.     I  flatter 
myself  they  were  such  horses,  as  had  not  been  brought  out 
of  Spain  for  a  century  before,  and  not  altogether  unworthy 
of  the  acceptance  of  the  illustrious  personage,  who  conde- 
scended to  receive  them.     1  was  at  dinner  when  they  arriv- 
ed, and  Count  Kaunitz  the  imperial  ambassador,  was  at  the 
table  with  me.     I  had  not  spoken  to  him,  or  any  other  per- 
son, of  this  expected  present,  and  his  astonishment  at  seeing  i 
that,  which  had  been  the  great  desideratum  of  many  ambas-  i 
sadors,  and  himself  amongst  the  number,  thus  voluntarily  * 
and  liberally  bestowed  upon  me,  (the  secret  and  untitled 
agent  of  a  court  at  war  with  Spain)  surprised  him  into  some 
comments,  which  had  the  only  tincture  of  jealously  that  I 
ever  discovered  in  him.     A  crowd  had  followed  these  hor- 
ses to  the  gates,  which  enclosed  my  courts  ;  one  of  these 
opened  to  the  Plazuela  de  los  AflBigidos,  and  the  other  to  the 
street  of  the  inquisition  ;  I  caused  these  gates  to  be  thrown 
open,  and  when  the  people  saw  the  horses  with  their  royal 
coverings  upon  them  led  into  my  stable,  they  gave  a  shout 
expressive  of  their  pleasure  and  applause.     If  my  very  amia- 
ble friend  Kaunitz  was  not  quite  so  highly  gratified  by  these 
occurrences  as  I  was,  he  was  perfectly  excuseable. 

I  kept  these  horses  in  my  stables  at  Madrid,  and  should 
not  have  used  them  but  at  the  special  requisition  of  the 
royal  donor  ;  when  that  was  signified  to  me,  my  daughters: 
and  myself  rode  them,  as  occasion  suited,  and  as  a  proof  how 
noble  they  were  by  nature,  the  following  instance  will  suf- 
fice. As  my  eldest  daughter  was  passing  a  small  convent, 
not  a  mile  from  the  gate  of  San  Bernandio,  a  large  Spa- 
nish mastiff  of  the  wolf-dog  kind  rushed  out  of  the  con- 
vent, and  seizing  her  horse  by  the  breast,  hung  there  by 
his  teeth,  whilst  the  tortured  animal  rushed  onwards  at 
full  speed,  showing  no  manner  of  vice,  and  only  eager  to 
shake  off  his  troublesome  encumberance.  In  this  situa- 
tion she  was  perceived  and  rescued  by  a  Spanish  officer  on 
'  foot,  who  presenting  himself  in  the  very  line  of  the  horse's 
course,  gave  him  the  word  and  signal  to  stop,  when  to  my 
equal  joy  and  astonishment  (for  I  saw  the  action)  the  generous 
animal  obeyed,  the  dog  dropped  his  hold,  and  the  lady,  still 


I 


RfCHAUD  CUMBERLAND.  255 

firm  and  unshaken  in  her  seat,  though  alarmed  and  almost 
breathless,  was  seasonably  set  free  by  the  happy  presence  of 
mind  of  her  deliverer,  and  the  very  singular  obedience  of 
her  royal  steed,  whose  generous  breast  long  retained  the 
marks  of  his  ignoble  and  ferocious  assailant. 

When  I  had  received  my  recall  I  sent  these  horses  be- 
fore me  under  the  care  of  two  Spaniards,  father  and  son,  of 
the  name  of  Velasco,  who  led  them  from  Madrid  through 
Paris  to  Ostend,  walking  on  foot,  and  sleeping  by  them  in 
.their  stables  every  night ;  and  taking  their  passage  from 
Ostend  to  Margate,  arrived  with  them  at  my  door  in  Port- 
land-Place, and  delivered  them  without  spot  or  blemish  in 
perfect  order  and  condition  to  his  majesty's  grooms  at  the 
royal  Mews. 

If  my  gratitude  to  the  memory  of  the  late  benevolent  so- 
Tereign,  who  was  pleased  by  this  and  many  other  favours 
graciously  to  mark  the  sincere,  though  ineffectual,  efforts  of 
an  humble  individual,  defeated  in  his  hopes  by  unforeseen 
events,  which  he  could  not  controul,  and  afterv/ards  aban- 
doned to  distress  and  ruin  by  his  employers  for  want  of  that 
success,  which  he  could  not  command  ;  if  my  gratitude  (I 
repeat  it)  to  the  deceased  King  of  Spain  causes  me  to  be  too 
particular,  or  prolix,  in  recording  his  goodness  to  me,  it  is 
because  I  naturally  must  feel  it  with  the  greater  sensibility 
from  the  contrast,  which  I  painfully  experienced,  when  I 
returned  bankrupt,  broken-hearted  and  scarce  alive  to  my 
native  country.     But  of  this  more  at  large  in  its  proper  place . 

I  have  hinted  at  the  surprise,  which  my  friend  Count 
Kaunitz  expressed  upon  the  present  of  the  royal  horses,  it 
was  again  his  chance  to  experience  something  of  the  like 
nature,  when  he  did  me  the  honour  to  dine  with  me  upon 
the  4th  of  June,  when  with  a  few  cordial  friends  I  was  cele- 
brating my  beloved  sovereign's  biith-day  in  the  best  man- 
ner my  obscurity  and  humble  means  allowed  of.  On  this 
occasion  I  confess  my  surprise  was  as  great  as  his,  when  the 
music  of  every  regiment  in  garrison  at  Madrid,  not  except- 
ing the  Spanish  guards  filed  into  my  court-yard,  and  afford- 
ed me  the  exquisite  delight  of  hearing  those,  w\  :>  were  in 
arms  against  my  country,  unite  in  celebrating  the  return  of 
that  day  which  gave  its  monarch  birth. 

I  frequently  visited  the  superb  collection  of  paintings  in 
the  palace  of  Madrid  ;  the  king  was  so  good  as  to  give  or-, 
ders  for  any  pictures  to  be  taken  down  and  placed  upon  the 

X 


254  MEMOIRS  OF 

eazel,  which  I  might  wish  to  have  a  nearer  view  of;  he  all 
gave  direction  for  a  catalogue  to  be  made  out  at  my  request^^ 
which  I  have  published  and  attached  to  my  account  of  the 
Spanish  painters  ;  he  authorised  me  to  say,  that  if  the  king 
my  master  thought  fit  to  send  over  English  artists  to  copy 
any  of  the  pictures  in  his  collection,  either  for  engravings  or 
otherwise,  he  would  give  them  all  possible  facility  and 
maintain  them  at  free  cost,  whilst  they  were  so  employed  ; 
this  I  made  known  on  my  return.  He  gave  direction  to  his 
architect  Sabbatini,  to  supply  from  the  quarries  in  Spain  any 
blocks  or  slabs  of  marble,  according  to  the  samples  which  I 
brought  over  to  the  amount  of  above  a  hundred,  whenever, 
any  such  should  be  required  for  the  building  or  ornamenting 
the  royal  palaces  in  England. 

I  bear  in  my  remembrance  many  other  favours,  which  af- 
ter what  I  have  related  are  not  necessary  to  enumerate. 
They  were  articles,  to  which  his  grace  and  goodness  gave  a 
value,  and  exactly  such  as  I  could  with  perfect  consistency 
of  character  accept.  The  present  of  Viguna  cloth  from  the 
royal  manufactory,  which  he  had  given  to  the  ambassador 
Lord  Grantham,  in  the  same  proportion  was  bestowed  upon 
me.  The  superior  properties  of  the  Spanish  pointer  are 
well  known,  and  dogs  of  the  true  breed  are  greatly  coveted  : 
the  king  understood  I  was  searching  after  some  of  this  sort, 
and  was  pleased  to  offer  me  the  choice  of  any  I  might  wish 
to  have  from  out  his  whole  collection ;  but  I  had  already 
possessed  myself  of  two  very  fine  ones,  which  his  majesty 
saw,  and  thought  them  at  least  equal  to  any  of  his  own  ;  I 
therefore  thankfully  acknov/ ledged  his  kind  offer,  but  did  not 
avail  myself  of  it. 

The  Princess  of  Asturias,  now  reigning  Queen  of  Spain, 
had  taken  an  early  opportunity  of  giving  a  private  audience 
to  my  yv^ife  and  daughters,  and  gratifying  their  curiosity 
with  a  sight  of  her  jewels,  most  of  which  she  described  to 
be  of  English  setting.  She  condescended  to  take  a  pattern 
of  their  riding  habits,  though  they  were  copied  from  the 
uniform  of  our  guards,  and,  when  apprised  of  this,  replied, 
that  it  was  a  further  motive  with  her  for  adopting  the  fashion 
of  it ;  I  rv  member,  however,  that  she  caused  a  broad  gold  lace 
to  be  carried  round  the  bottom  of  the  skirt.  She  also  conde- 
scended to  send  for  several  other  articles  of  their  dress,  as 
samples,  v/hilst  they  were  conforming  to  the  costuma  of 
Spain  to  the    minutest  particular,  and  wearing    nothing 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  255 

but  silks  of  Spanish  fabric,  rejecting  all  the  finerv  of  Lyons, 
and  every  present  or  purchase,  however  tempting,  of  all 
French  manufactures  whatever.  Tliis  lure  for  popularity 
succeeded  to  such  a  degree,  that  when  these  young  English- 
women, habited  in  their  Spanish  dresses,  (and  attractive  as 
I  may  presume  to  say  they  were  by  the  bloom  and  beauty 
of  their  persons)  passed  the  streets  of  Madrid,  their  coach 
was  brought  to  frequent  stops,  and  hardly  found  its  passage 
through  the  crowd.  A  Spanish  lady,  when  she  rides,  oc- 
cupies both  sides  of  her  palfry,  and  is  attended  by  her  lac- 
quies  on  foot,  her  horse  in  the  meantime,  movens^  sed  non 
firomove7ifi^  brandishing  his  legs,  but  advancing  only  by  in- 
ches. When  my  wife  and  daughters  on  the  contrary,  who 
were  all  admirable  riders,  according  to  the  English  style 
and  spirit,  put  their  horses  to  their  speed,  it  was  a  spectacle 
of  such  novelty,  and  oftentimes  drew  such  acclamations,  par- 
ticularly from  the  Spanish  guards  whilst  we  were  at  the  Es- 
curial,  as  might  have  given  rise  to  some  sensations,  if  per- 
sisted in,  which  in  good  policy  made  it  prudent  for  me  to 
iremand  them  to  Madrid. 

Here  I  considered  myself  bound  in  duty  to  adapt  my  mode 
of  life  to  the  circumstances  of  my  situation,  and  the  undefin- 
ed character  in  which  I  stood.  I  was  not  restricted  from 
receiving  my  friends,  but  I  made  no  visits  whatsoever,  and 
the  journal  of  any  one  day  may  serve  for  a  description  of  the 
whole.  The  same  circle  assembled  every  afternoon  at  the 
same  jnainute,  and  with  the  same  regularity  broke  up.  The 
ladies  had  a  round  table  of  low  Pope-Joan,  and  1  had  a  party 
of  sitters-by.  My  house  was  extremely  spacious,  and  that 
space  by  no  means  choaked  up  with  furniture  ;  I  had  four- 
teen rooms  on  the  principal  floor,  and  but  one  fire  place  ; 
in  this,  during  the  winter  months,  I  burnt  pieces  of  vrood, 
purchased  of  a  coach-maker,  many  of  them  carved  and  gilt, 
the  relics  of  old  carriages,  and  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  to 
discover  fragments  of  arms  and  breasts  of  Careatides,  who 
had  worn  themselves  out  in  the  service  of  some  departed 
Grandee,  who  had  left  them,  like  the  w^reck  of  Pharaoh's 
chariots,  to  their  disgraceful  fate.  I  found  my  mansion  in 
the  naked  dignity  of  brick  floors  and  white  walls  ;  upon  the 
former  I  spread  some  mats,  and  on  the  other  I  pasted  some 
paper.  I  farmed  my  dinners  from  a  Milanese  traiteur,  ex- 
orbitantly dear  and  unpardonably  bad  ;  but  I  had  no  resource  ; 
they  came  ready  cooked  to  my  house,  and  were  heated  up 


256  MEMOIRS  OF 

afresh  in  my  stoves.  The  lacquies,  that  I  hired,  had  two 
shillings  per  day,  and  dieted  themselves ;  my  expense  in 
equipage  was  very  great,  for  the  mules  appropriated  to  my  - 
town  use  could  not  go  upon  the  road  ;  others  were  to  be 
hired  for  posting,  and  less  than  six  had  been  against  all  rule. 
I  had  a  stable  full  of  capital  Spanish  horses,  exclusive  of  the 
king's,  three  of  which  were  lent  to  me  for  the  use  of  the 
ladies,  and  two  given  to  me  by  Count  Kaunitz  :  one  of  these, 
a  most  beautiful  creature  of  the  under-size,  and  a  favourite 
of  my  wife's,  I  brought' to  England  :  the  other  was  an  aged 
horse,  milk-white,  the  victor  over  nine  bulls,  and  covered 
in  his  flanks  and  sides  with  honourable  scars  ;  he  had  been 
uevoted  to  the  amphitheatre  under  suspicion  of  having  the 
glanders,  but  he  outlived  the  imputation,  and  in  the  true 
character  of  the  Spanish  horse  carried  himself  in  the  proud- 
est style  of  any  I  ever  saw,  possessing  the  sweetest  temper 
with  the  noblest  spirit,  and  when  in  the  possession  of  the 
great  Grandee  Altamira,  had  been  prized  and  admired  above 
all  other  horses  of  his  day.  My  eldest  daughter  seldom  fail- 
ed to  prefer  him,  but,  thinking  him  too  old  to  undergo  any 
great  fatigue,  I  did  not  risk  the  bringing  him  to  England, 
but  returned  him  to  the  noble  donor. 

This  amiable  personage,  son  to  the  Imperial  Minister 
Count  Kaunitz,  had  been  ambassador  to  Russia,  and  was 
now  filling  that  distinguished  station  at  the  court  of  Spain. 
When  I  had  been  but  a  few  days  in  Madrid,  whilst  I  was  in 
rny  box  at  the  comedy,  Vv^ith  my  wife  and  daughters,  he  ask- 
ed leave  to  enter,  and  placed  himself  in  a  back  seat :  the 
drama,  as  far  as  I  could  understand  it,  seemed  to  be  ground- 
ed on  the  story  of  Richardson's  Pamela,  and  amongst  the 
characters  of  the  piece  there  was  one,  who  meant  to  person- 
ate a  British  sea-captrdn.  When  this  representative  of  my 
countryman  made  his  entrance  on  the  stage,  Kaunitz,  who 
perhaps  discovered  something  in  my  countenance,  which 
the  ridiculous  di^ess  and  appearance  of  the  actor  very  possi- 
bly excited,  leaning  forwards  and  addressing  himself  to  me 
for  the  first  time,  said — "T  hope,  Sir,  you  will  overlook  a 
**  small  mistake  in  point  of  costuma,  which  this  gentleman 
**  has  very  naturally  fallen  into,  as  I  am  convinced  he  would 
"  have  been  proud  of  presenting  himself  to  you  in  his  pro- 
**  per  uniform,  could  he  have  found  amongst  all  his  naval 
"  acquaintance  any  one,  who  could  have  furnished  him  with 
*^  a  sample  of  it."     This  apology,  at  once  so  complimentary 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  257 

and  ingenious,  set  off  by  his  elegant  manner  of  address,  led 
us  into  conversation,  and  from  that  evening  I  can  hardly  call 
to  mind  one,  in  which  he  failed  to  honour  me  with  his  com- 
pany. In  his  features  he  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  the 
portrait,  which  he  gave  me  of  his  father ;  in  his  manners, 
which  were  those  of  a  perfect  gentleman,  he  was  correctly 
fitted  to  the  situation  that  he  filled,  and  for  that  situation  his 
talents,  though  not  pre-eminently  brirjant,  were  doubtless 
all-sufiicient.  He  was  not  unconscious  of  those  high  pre- 
tensions to  which  his  birth  and  station  entitled  him,  but  it 
was  very  rarely  indeed  that  I  could  discover  any  symptoms 
in  his  behaviour,  that  betokened  other  than  a  proper  and  be- 
coming sensibility  towards  his  honour  and  his  offecc.  With 
a  constitution  rather  delicate,  he  possessed  a  heart  extreme- 
ly tender,  and  how  truly  and  entirely  that  heart  was  devoted 
to  the  elder  of  my  daughters,  I  doubt  not  but  he  severely 
felt,  when  frustrated  in  his  honourable  and  ardent  wishes  to 
be  united  to  her,  he  saw  her  depart  out  of  Spain,  and  after 
one  day's  journey  in  our  company  took  his  melancholy  leave 
for  ever  ;  for  after  the  revolution  of  a  few  months,  when  it 
may  be  presumed  he  had  conquered  his  attachment,  and  re- 
conciled himself  to  his  disappointment,  this  amiable  young 
man,  being  then  upon  his  departure  for  his  native  country^ 
sickened  and  died  at  Barcelona. 

There  were  two  other  gentlemen  of  the  imperial  party, 
who  very  constantly  were  pleased  to  grace  my  evening  cir- 
cle ;  the  one  Signor  Giusti,  an  Italian,  secretary  of  the  em- 
bassy ;  the  other  General  Count  Pallavicini,  a  man  not  more 
ennobled  by  the  splendour  of  his  birth,  than  by  the  services 
he  had  performed,  and  the  fame  he  had  acquired.  In  the 
short  war  between  Austria  and  Prussia,  this  gallant  officer 
by  a  very  brilliant  coup-de-main  liad  surprised  a  fortress 
and  made  prisoners  the  garrison,  which  covered  him  with 
glory  and  the  favours  of  his  sovereign  :  he  was  now  makings 
a  military  tour  by  command  and  at  the  charge  of  the  Em- 
press Queen,  and  came  into  Spain,  consigned  (as  I  may  say) 
to  Count  Kaunitz,  for  the  purpose  of  being  passed  into  the 
Spanish  lines,  tlien  investing  Gibraltar. — Inta  tliis  fortress. 
he  was  anxiously  solicitous  to  obtain  admission,,  and  when  na 
accommodation  covdd  be  granted  to  his  wislies  through  the 
influence  of  Coimt  Kaunitz,  I  gave  him  letters  to  Mr.  Wal- 
pole,  which  he  carried  ti)-  him  at  Lisbon,  and  by  a.  roote-^^ 
which  that  minister  pointed  out,  assisted  by  his  sa\d  my  ia-- 


258  MEMOIRS  OF 

troduction  to  General  Elliot,  succeeded  in  his  wishes,  and] 
believe  no  mc'.n  entertained  a  higher  respect  for  the  brav| 
defenders  of  that  fortress,  or  a  warmer  sense  of  the  gratify! 
ing  indulgence,  which  they  granted  to  him  in  so  libeml  i 
manner.  Count  Pallavicini  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  of  i 
noble  air  and  high-born  countenance  ;  tall,  finely  foiTned 
gay,  natural,  of>en-hearted ;  his  spirit  was  alive  in  everf 
feature;  it  did  not  need  the  aid  of  suscitation  ;  no  dress 
could  hide  the  soldier,  or  disguise  the  gentleman.  He  had 
a  happy  flow  of  comic  humour  at  command,  unobtrusive 
however,  and  only  resorted  to  at  times  and  seasons  ;  of  the 
suavity  and  pomposity  of  the  Castilian  character  he  seemed 
to  have  taken  up  a  very  contemptible  impression,  and  would 
no  otherwise  fall  in  with  any  of  their  habits  and  customs, 
than  for  the  purpose  of  ridiculing  them  by  imitations  de- 
signedly caricatured.  There  are  twenty  ways  of  arranging 
the  Spanish  Capa ;  he  never  would  be  taught  any  one  of 
them,  though  he  underwent  a  lecture  every  night  at  part- 
ing, but  in  an  one-and-twentieth  way  of  his  own  hung  it  on 
his  shoulders,  and  marched  off  most  amusingly  ridiculous. 
I  think  it  never  v*^as  my  lot  to  make  acquaintance  with  a 
man,  for  whom  my  heart  more  rapidly  warmed  into  friend- 
ship, than  it  did  towards  this  engaging  gallant  hero  ;  he 
continued  to  me  his  affectionate  correspondence,  till  turning 
out  against  the  Turks,  and  ever  foremost  in  the  field  of 
glory,  his  head  was  sabred  fi^om  his  Tiody  at  a  stroke,  and  he 
died^  as  he  had  lived,  in  the  very  arms  of  victory  ;  his  ar* 
dent  courage,  though  it  turned  the  battle,  did  not  serve  him 
to  ward  off  the  blow. 

From  this  lamented  friend,  whose  memory  will  be  ever 
dear  to  me,  I  have  now  in  my  possession  letters,  written 
from  Prague,  where  he  had  a  separate  command  of  eight 
thousand  men,  by  which  letters,  though  he  could  not  pre- 
vail with  either  of  my  daughters  (for  he  successively  ad-^ 
dressed  himself  to  each)  to  change  their  country  and  for- 
sake their  parents  and  connections,  yet  I  trust  he  was  as- 
sured and  satisfied  from  the  answers  he  received,  that  it 
was  because  they  could  not  detach  themselves  from  ties 
like  these,  and  not  because  they  wxre  insensible  to  his 
merits,  when  in  their  humble  station  they  felt  them* 
selves  compelled  to  reject  those  offers,  that  would  have 
conferred  honour  on  them,  had  they  ranked  amongst  the 
hi^V*est. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  359 

Tlie  Nuncio  Colonna,  cardinal  elect,  paid  me  some  atten- 
tions, and  the  Venetian  ambassador  favoured  me  with  liis 
visits.  The  Saxon  Minister,  Count  Gerstoff,  was  frequently 
at  our  evening  parties,  and  the  Danish  minister  Count  Re- 
ventlau  seldom  failed.  The  former  of  these  was  an  animat- 
ed lively  man,  and  a  most  agreeable  companion  ;  Reventlau 
had  been  in  a  diplomatic  character  at  the  court  of  London, 
and  had  brought  with  him  the  lan^-uage,  manners  and  habi- 
tudes, of  an  Englishman  of  the  first  fashion.  His  partiality 
to  our  native  country  created  in  me  and  my  family  a  reci- 
procal partiality  for  him,  and  so  interesting  was  this  elegant 
young  Dane  in  person,  countenance  and  address,  that  the 
eye,  which  could  have  contemplated  him  with  indifference, 
must  have  held  no  correspondence  with  the  heart.  We 
passed  the  whole  evening  before  our  departure  with  this 
engaging  and  affectionate  friend  ;  the  parting  was  to  all  most 
painful,  but  by  one  in  particular  more  acutely  felt  than  I 
will  attempt  to  describe.  Reventlau  was  one,  and  not  the 
eldest  of  a  very  numerous  and  noble  family  :  his  father  had 
been  minister,  but  his  hereditary  property  was  by  no  means 
large,  and  the  purity  of  his  principle  disdained  the  accumu- 
lation of  any  other  advantages  or  rewards,  than  those,  which 
attached  themselves  to  his  reputation,  and  were  rigidly  con- 
sistent with  the  character  of  a  patriot. 

Colonel  O'Moore  of  the  Walloons,  a  very  worthy  and  res- 
pectable man,  and  Signior  Nicolas  Marchetti  of  the  corps  of 
Engineers,  a  Sicilian,  were  constant  parties  in  our  friendly 
circle.  There  were  other  Irish  officers  in  the  Spanish  ser- 
vice, some  Religious  also  of  that  nation,  and  some  in  the 
commercial  line,  who  frequently  resorted  to  me  ;  but  to  the 
generous  and  benevolent  Marchetti  in  particul?.r,  who  ac- 
companied me  through  the  whole  of  my  disastrous  journey, 
from  Madrid,  by  the  wr.y  of  Paris,  I  am  beiiolden  for  the 
means  that  enabled  me  to  reach  my  jiative  country,  as  will 
appear  hereafter. 

Count  Pietra  Santa,  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  Italian  band 
of  body-guards,  was  my  most  dear  and  intimate  friend  ;  by 
that  name  in  its  truest  and  most  appropriate  sense  I  must 
ever  remember  him,  (for  he  is  now  no  more)  and  though  the 
days  that  I  passed  with  him  in  Spain  did  not  out-nurnber 
tliose  of  a  single  year,  yet  in  every  one  of  these  I  hud  the 
happiness  to  enjoy  so  many  hours  of  his  society,  that  in  his 
case,  as  in  that  of  the  good  old  xVbbe  Curtis,  whilst  we  w^re 


260  MEMOIRS  OF 

but  young  in  acquaintance,  we  might  be  fairly  said  to  be  old 
in  friendship.  It  is  ever  matter  of  delight  to  me,  when  I 
can  seethe  world  disposed  to  pay  tribute  to  those  modest  ' 
unassuming  characters,  who  exact  no  tribute,  but  in  plain 
and  pure  simplicity  of  heart  recommend  themselves  to  our 
affections,  and  borrowing  nothing  from  the  charms  of  wit, 
or  the  display  of  genius,  exhibit  virtue — in  itself  how  loTely. 
Such  was  my  deceased  friend,  a  man,  whom  every  body  with 
unanimous  assent  denominated  the  good  Pietra  Santa,  whom 
every  body  loved,  for  he  that  ran  could  read  him,  and  who 
together  with  the  truest  courage  of  a  soldier  and  the  highest 
principles  of  honour  combined  such  moral  virtues  with  such 
gentle  manners  and  so  sweet  a  temper,  that  he  seemed  des- 
tined to  give  the  rare  example  of  a  human  creature,  in  whom 
no  fault  could  be  discovered. 

In  this  society  I  could  not  fail  to  pass  my  hours  of  relaxa- 
tion very  much  to  my  satisfaction  without  resorting  to  pub- 
lic places  or  assemblies,  in  which  species  of  amusement 
Madrid  was  very  scantily  provided,  for  there  was  but  one 
theatre  for  plays,  no  opera,  and  a  most  unsocial  gloomy  style 
of  living  seemed  to  characterize  the  whole  body  of  the  no- 
bles and  grandees.  I  was  not  often  tempted  to  the  theatre, 
which  was  small,  dark,  ill-furnished,  and  ill-attended,  yet 
when  the  celebrated  tragic  actress,  knov/n  by  the  title  of  the 
Tiranna,  played,  it  was  a  treat,  which  I  should  suppose  no 
other  stage  then  in  Europe  could  compare  with.  That  ex- 
traordinary woman,  whose  real  name  I  do  not  remember, 
and  whose  real  origin  cannot  be  traced,  till  it  is  settled  from 
what  particular  nation  or  people  we  are  to  derive  the  outcast 
race  of  gipsies,  was  not  less  formed  to  strike  beholders  with 
the  beauty  and  commanding  majesty  of  her  person,  than  ta 
astonish  all  that  heard  her,  by  the  powers  that  nature  and  art 
had  combined  to  give  her.  My  friend  Count  Pietra  Santa, 
who  had  honourable  access  to  this  great  stage  heroine,  inti- 
mated to  her  the  very  high  expectation  I  had  formed  of  her 
performances,  and  the  eager  desire  I  had  to  see  her  in  one  of 
her  capital  characters,  telling  her  at  the  same  time  that  I  had 
been  a  writer  for  the  stage  in  my  own  country  :  in  conse- 
quence of  this  intimation  she  sent  me  word  that  I  should  have 
notice  from  her,  when  she  wished  me  to  come  to  the  thea- 
tre, till  when,  she  desired  I  would  not  present  myself  in  my 
box  upon  any  night,  though  her  name  might  be  in  the  bill, 
for  it  was  only  when  she  liked  her  part,  and  was  in  the  hu- 
mour to  play  well,  that  she  wished  me  to  be  present* 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  261 

,  In  obedience  to  her  message  I  waited  several  days,  and 
at  last  received  ihe  looked-for  summons  ;  I  had  not  been 
many  minutes  in  the  theatre  before  she  sent  a  mandate  to 
me  to  go  home,  for  that  she  was  in  no  disposition  that  eve- 
ning for  playing  well,  and  should  neither  do  justice  to  her 
own  talents,  nor  to  my  expectations.  I  instantly  obeyed 
this  whimsical  injunction,  knowing  it  to  be  so  perfectly  in 
character  with  the,  capricious  humour  of  her  tribe.  When 
sometliing  more  than  a  week  had  passed,  I  was  again  invi- 
ted to  the  theatre,  and  permitted  to  sit  out  the  whole  repre- 
sentation. I  had  not  then  enough  of  the  language  to  un- 
derstand much  more  than  the  incidents  and  attion  of  the 
play,  which  was  of  the  deepest  cast  of  tragedy,  for  in  the 
course  of  the  plot  she  murdered  her  infant  children,  and  ex- 
hibited them  dead  on  the  stage  lying  on  each  side  of  her, 
whilst  she,  sitting  on  the  bare  floor  between  them  (her  atti- 
tude, action,  features,  tones,  defying  all  description)  pre- 
sented such  a  high-wrought  picture  of  hysteric  phrensy, 
laughing  wild  amidst  severest  woe^  as  placed  her  in  my  judg- 
ment at  the  very  summit  of  her  art ;  in  fact  I  have  no  con- 
ception that  the  powers  of  acting  can  be  carried  higher,  and 
such  was  the  effect  upon  the  audience,  that  whilst  the  spec- 
tators in  the  pit,  having  caught  a  kind  of  sympathetic  phren- 
sy from  the  scene,  were  rising  up  in  a  tumultuous  manner, 
the  word  was  given  out  by  authority  for  letting  fall  the  cur- 
tain, and  a  catastrophe,  probably  tv/o  strong  for  exhibition, 
was  not  allowed  to  be  completed. 

A  few  minutes  had  passed,  when  this  wonderful  creature, 
led  in  by  Pietra  Santa,  entered  my  box  ;  the  artificial  pale- 
ness of  her  cheeks,  her  eyes,  which  she  had  dyed  of  a  bright 
Vermillion  round  the  edges  of  the  lids,  her  fine  arms  bare  to 
the  shoulders,  the  wild  magnificence  of  her  attire,  and  the 
profusion  of  her  dishevelled  locks,  glossy  black  as  the  plum- 
age of  the  raven,  gave  her  the  appearance  of  something 
more  than  human,  such  a  Sybil,  such  an  imaginary  being, 
so  awful,  so  impressive,  that  my  blood  chilled  as  she  ap- 
proached me  not  to  ask  but  to  claim  my  applause,  demand- 
ing of  me  if  I  had  ever  seen  any  actress,  that  could  be  com- 
pared with  her  in  my  own,  or  any  other  country.  "  I  w^as 
"  determined,"  she  said,  "  to  exert  myself  for  you  this 
"  night ;  and  if  the  sensibility  of  the  audience  would  have 
"  suffered  me  to  have  concluded  the  scene,  I  should  have 
"  convinced  you  that  I  do  not  boast  of  my  own  performances 
^^  without  reason/* 


262  MEMOIRS  OP 

The  allowances,  which  the  Spanish  theatre  could  afford 
to  make  to  its  performers,  were  so  very  fcioderate,  that! 
should  doubt  if  the  whole  year's  salary  of  the  Tiranna  would 
have  more  than  paid  for  the  magnificent  dress,  in  which  she 
then  appeared  ;  but  this  and  all  other  charges  appertaining 
to  her  establishment  were  defrayed  from  the  coffers  of  the| 
Duke  of  Osuna,  a  grandee  of  the  first  class  and  command^! 
of  the  Spanish  Guards.  This  noble  person  found  Jit  indi^Sl 
pensably  necessary  for  his  honour  to  have  the  finest  woman 
in  Spain  upon  his  pension,  but  by  no  means  necessary  to  be 
acquainted  with  her,  and  at  the  very  time,  of  which  I  am 
now  speaking,  Pietra  Santa  seriously  assured  me,  that  his  ' 
excellency  had  indeed  paid  large  sums  to  her  order,  but  had 
never  once  visited,  or  even  seen  her.  He  told  me  at  the 
same  time  that  he  had  very  lately  taken  upon  himself  to  re- 
monstrate upon  this  want  of  curiosity,  and  having  suggested 
to  his  excellency  how  possible  it  was  for  him  to  order  his 
equipage  to  the  door,  and  permit  him  to  introduce  him  to 
this  fair  creature,  whom  he  knew  only  by  report  and  the 
bills  she  had  drawn  upon  his  treasurer,  the  duke  graciously 
consented  to  my  friend's  proposal,  and  actually  set  out  with 
him  for  the  gallant  purpose  of  taking  a  cup  of  chocolate  with 
his  hitherto  invisible  mistress,  who  had  notice  given  her  of 
the  intended  visit.  The  distance  from  the  house  of  the 
grandee  to  the  apartments  of  the  gipsy  was  not  great,  but 
the  lulling  motion  of  the  huge  state-coach,  and  the  softness 
of  the  velvet  cushions  had  rocked  his  excellency  into  so 
sound  a  nap,  that  when  his  equipage  stopped  at  the  lady's 
door,  there  was  not  one  of  his  retinue  bold  enough  to  un- 
dertake the  invidious  task  of  troubling  his  repose.  The  con- 
sequence was,  that  after  a  proper  time  was  passed  upon  the 
halt  for  this  brave  commander  to  have  waked,  had  nature  so 
ordained  it,  the  coach  wheeled  round  and  his  excellency  hav- 
ing slept  away  his  curiosity,  had  not  at  the  time  when  I  left 
Madrid  ever  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  person  of  the  incompara- 
ble Tiranna.  I  take  it  for  granted  my  friend  Pietra  Santa 
drank  the  chocolate,  and  his  excellency  enjoyed  the  nap.  I 
will  only  add  in  confirmation  of  my  anecdote,  that  the  good 
Abbe  Curtis,  who  had  the  honour  of  having  educated  this  il- 
lustrious sleeper,  verified  the  fact. 

When  Count  Pallavicini  left  Madrid  and  went  to  Lisbon  in 
the  hope  of  getting  into  Gibraltar  through  the  introduction, 
ihat  I  gave  him  to  the  minister  Mr.  Walpole  and  others  of 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  265 

my  correspondents  in  that  city,  I  availed  myself  of  that  op- 
portunity for  conveying  my  dispatches  of  the  12th  of  De- 
cember 1780,  to  the  Secretary  of  State  Lord  Hillsborough. 
They  embraced  much  matter  and  very  many  particulars,  in- 
teresting at  that  time,  but  now  so  long  since  gone  by,  that 
the  insertion  of  them  here  could  answer  no  purpose  but  to 
set  forth  my  own  unwearied  assiduity,  and  good  fortune  in 
procuring  intelligence,  which  in  the  event  proved  perfectly 
correct.  On  the  3d  of  the  month  following,  viz.  January 
1 178 1, 1  inform  Lord  Hillsborough,  that  "  having  found  means 
I"  to  obtain  copies  of  some  state  papers,  the  authenticity  of 
i"  which  may  be  relied  upon,  I  have  the  honour  to  transmit 
"  them  to  your  lordship  by  express  to  Lisbon — "  These  were 
all  actual  dispatches  of  the  minister  Florida  Blanca,  secret 
and  confidential,  to  the  Spanish  envoy  at  the  court  of  Peters- 
burgh,  and  developed  an  intrigue,  of  which  it  was  highly  im- 
portant that  my  court  should  be  apprised.  This  project  it 
was  my  happy  chance  to  lay  open  and  defeat  by  the  acquisi- 
tion of  these  papers  through  the  agency  of  one  of  the  ablest 
and  most  efficient  men,  that  ever  was  concerned  in  business 
of  a  secret  nature  :  had  my  corresponding  minister  listened 
to  the  recommendation  I  gave  of  this  gentleman,  I  could 
have  taken  him  entirely  into  the  pay  and  service  of  my  court, 
and  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  a  person  of  his  talents 
and  address  were  incalculable.  He  served  me  faithfully 
and  effectually  on  this,  and  some  other  occasions,  and  it  was 
not  without  the  most  sensible  regret  I  found  myself  con- 
strained to  leave  him  behind  me. 

When  I  had  sent  my  faithful  servant  Camis  express  with 
this  important  dispatch,  I  received  the  following  letter  from 
the  Earl  of  Hillsborough 

"  St.  James's,  9th  December,   1780. 
"  Sir, 

"  I  have  duly  received  your  letters  from  No.  7 
to, No.  12  inclusive,  and  laid  them  before  the  king.  The 
last  number  was  delivered  to  me  by  Mr.  Hussey.  That 
gentleman  has  communicated  to  me  the  purport  of  Count 
Florida  Blanca's  conversation  with  him,, for  which  purpose 
alone  he  appears  to  me  to  have  returned  to  London.  The 
introduction  of  Gibraltar  and  the  American  rebellion  into 
that  conversation,  convinces  me  that  there  is  no  intention  in 
the  court  of  Spain  to  make  a  separate  treaty  of  peace  with 


264  MEMOIRS  OF  i 

us.  I  do  not  however  as  yet  signify  to  you  the  king'^s  cdtA 
maud  for  your  return^  though  I  see  little  utility  in  your  -fi 
maining  at  Madrid.  ^; 

"  If  you  should  obtain  any  further  intelligence  concern-' 
ing  the  mediation,  which  you  informed  me  yoQ  understood 
had  been  proposed  by  the  Empress  of  Russia,  I  desire  you 
will  acquaint  me  with  it. 

"  Mr.  Hussey  undertakes  to  deliver  this  letter  to  you.    I 
have  nothing  further  to  add,  but  to  repeat  to  you,  that  the 
king  expects  from  you  the  strictest  adherence  to  your  in- 
structions, without  any  deviation  whatsoever  during  the  re-  j 
mainder  of  the  time  you  shall  continue  at  Madrid.  \ 

"  I  am,  with  great  truth  and  regard,  ' 

"  Sir, 

"  Your  most  obedient 
Mr.  Cumberland.  "  Humble  servant, 

(Signed)  "  Hillsborough.** 

This  was  sufficient  authority  for  me  to  believe  that  my 
mission  was  fast  approaching  to  its  conclusion,  and  I  pre- 
pared myself  accordingly.  In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Hussey 
who  undertook  to  deliver  this  letter  to  me^  was  stopped  at 
Lisbon  and  not  permitted  to  continue  his  journey  into  Spain  ; 
for  in  fact  the  train,  which  my  minister  had  now^  contriv- 
ed to  throw  the  negociation  into,  was  not  acceptable  to 
the  Spanish  court,  and  the  rigour,  with  Avhich  I  was  en- 
joined to  adhere  to  my  instructions,  operated  so  effectually 
against  the  several  overtures,  which  were  repeatedly  made 
to  me  on  the  part  of  Florida  Blanca,  that  I  must  ever  believe 
the  negociation  was  lost  on  our  part  by  transferring  it  to 
one,  with  whom  Spain  was  not  inclined  to  treat,  and  tying  up 
m^y  hands  with  whom  there  seemed  every  disposition  to  a- 
gree.  In  fact  we  parted  merely  on  a  punctilio,  which  might 
have  been  qualified  between  us  with  the  most  consummate 
ease  ;  they  wanted  only  to  talk  about  Gibraltar,  and  I  was 
not  permitted  to  hear  it  named  ;  the  most  nugatory  article 
would  have  satisfied  them,  and  if  I  had  dared  to  have  given 
in  writing  to  the  Spanish  minister  the  salvo,  that  I  suggest- 
ed in  conversation  after  my  receiving  the  letter  above  refer- 
red to,  I  have  every  reason  to  be  confident  that  the  business 
would  have  been  concluded,  and  the  object  of  a  separate 
treaty  accomplished  without  any  other  sacrifice  than  that  of 
a  little  address  and  accommodation  in  the  matter  of  a  mere 
punctilio. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  265 

When  some  conferences  had  passed,  in  which,  fettered 
as  I  was  by  my  instructions,  I  found  it  impossible  to  put 
life  into  our  expiring  ncgociation,  favoured  though  I  was  by 
the  court  and  minister  to  the  last  moment  of  my  stay,  I  wrote 
to  Lord  Hillsborough  as  follows — 

-^  «  Madrid,  January  18th,   1781. 
<<  No.  19.     My  Lord, 

"  In  consequence  of  a  letter,  which  Mr.  Hus- 
sey  will  receive  by  this  conveyance  from  Count  Florida 
Blanca,  I  am  to  conclude,  that  he  will  immediately  return 
to  England,  without  coming  to  this  court.  In  the  copy  of 
this  letter,  which  his  excellency  has  communicated  to  me, 
he  remarks,  that,  in  case  the  negociation  shall  break  off 
upon  the  answer  now  given,  my  longer  residence  at  Madrid 
will  become  unnecessary  :  and  as  I  am  persuaded  that  your 
lordship  and  the  cabinet  will  agree  with  the  minister  of  Spain 
in  this  observation,  I  shall  put  myself  in  readiness  to  obey 
his  majesty's  recall.  In  the  mean  time  I  Leg  to  repeat  to 
your  lordship,  that  I  shall  strictly  adhere  to  his  majesty's 
commands,  trusting  that  you  v/iil  have  the  goodness  to  re- 
present to  his  majesty  my  faithful  zeal  and  devotion,  how 
ineffectual  soever  they  may  have  been,  in  the  fairest  light. 

"  Understanding  that  the  king  had  been  pleased  to  accept 
from  the  late  Prince  Masserano  a  Spanish  horse,  v/hich  was 
in  great  favour,  and  hoping  that  it  might  be  acceptable  to 
his  majesty,  if  occasion  offered  of  supplying  liis  stables  witli 
anotiier  of  the  like  quality,  I  desired  permission  of  the  min- 
ister to  take  out  of  Spain  a  horse,  which  I  had  in  my  eye, 
and  his  excellency  having  reported  this  my  desire  to  the 
King  of  Spain,  his  Catholic  Majesty  was  so  good  as  to  give 
immediate  direction  for  twelve  of  the  best  horses  in  Andalu- 
sia of  his  breed  of  royal  Caribaneers  to  be  drafted  but,  and 
from  these  two  of  the  noblest  and  steadiest  to  be  selected, 
and  given  to  me  for  the  above  purpose.  I  have  accordingly 
received  them,  and  as  they  fully  answer  my  expectations 
both  in  shape  and  quality,  and  are  superior  to  any  I  have  seen 
in  this  kingdom,  I  hope  they  will  be  approved  of  by  his  ma- 
jesty, if  they  are  fortunate  in  a  safe  passage,  and  shall  arrive 
in  London  without  any  accident. 

"  Don  Miguel  Louis  de  Portugal,  ambassador  from  her 
most  faithful  majesty  to  this  court,  died  a  few  days  ago  of  a 
tedious  and  painful  decay.     The  Infanta  of  Spain  is  sufficl- 

Y 


266  MEMOIRS  OF 

ently  recovered  to  remove  from  Madrid  to  the  Pardo,  \vherc« 
the  court  now  resides. 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  L^c.i^c, 

''  R.  c:'  'i 

Whilst  the  court  v/as  at  the  Pardo,  a  complaint,  founde 
on  the  grossest  misrepresentations  was  started  and  enforced 
upon  me  by  the  minister  respecting  the  alledged  ill  treat- 
ment of  the  Spanish  prisoners  of  war  in  England.  1  traced 
this  complaint  to  the  reports  of  a  certain  Captain  NuneM. 
then  on  his  parole  and  lately  come  from  England  ;  withthii|l 
gentleman  there  came  a  nephew  of  my  friend  the  Abbe  Cur- 
tis, v/ho  had  been  chaplain  on  board  Captctin  Nunez's  frigate^ 
when  she  was  taken,  and  who  was  now  liberated,  having 
brought  over  with  him  a  complete  copy  of  the  minutes  of 
parliament,  in  w^hich  the  matter  in  complaint  was  fully  and 
completely  enquired  into,  and  the  allegations  in  question 
confuted  upon  the  clearest  evidence,  Captain  Nunez  him- 
self being  present  at  the  examination  and  testifying  his  sat- 
isfaction and  entire  conviction  upon  the  result  of  it.  These 
documents  the  worthy  nephew  of  my  friend  very  honourably 
put  into  my  liands,  and,  armed  with  these,  I  proved  to  the 
court  of  Spain,  that,  upon  a  sickness  breaking  out  amongst 
the  Spanish  prisoners  from  their  own  uncleanliness  and  neg- 
lect, our  government,  with  a  benevolence  peculiar  to  the 
British  character,  had  made  exertions  wholly  ovit  of  course, 
furnishing  them  with  entire  new  bedding  at  a  great  expense, 
supplying  them  with  medicines  and  all  things  needful, 
whilst  in  attendance  on  the  diseased  more  than  twenty  sur- 
geons (I  speak  from  memory,  and  I  believe  I  am  correct) 
had  sacrificed  their  lives.  If  in  the  refutation  of  a  charge  so 
grossly  unjust  and  injurious  as  this,  I  lost  my  patience  and 
for  a  short  time  forgot  the  management  befitting  my  pecu- 
liar situation,  I  can  truly  say  it  was  the  only  error  I  commit- 
ted of  that  sort,  though  it  was  by  no  means  the  only  instance 
that  occurred  to  provoke  me  to  it,  as  the  following  anecdote 
will  demonstrate. 

There  was  a  young  man  by  name  Anthony  Smith,  a  native 
of  Lcndon,  living  at  Madrid  upon  a  small  allowance,  paid 
to  him  upon  the  decease  of  his  father,  who  had  been  watch- 
maker to  the  King  of  Spain.  I  took  this  young  m.an  into 
my  family  upon  t- e  recommendation  of  the  Abbe  Curtis,  and 
employed  him  in  transcribing  papers,  arranging  accounts 


RICPIARD  CUMBERLAND.  267   . 

and  other  small  affairs,  in  v/hich  his  knowledge  of  the  lan- 
giuip^e  rendered  him  very  usefuh  One  day  about  noon  the 
criminal  judge  with  his  attendants  walked  into  my  house, 
and  seizing  the  person  of  this  young  man  took  him  to  pris- 
on, and  shut  him  up  in  a  solitary  cell  without  assigning  any 
cause  for  the  proceeding,  or  stating  any  crim.e  of  which  he 
was  suspected.  I  took  the  course  natural  for  me  to  take, 
and  from  the  effect,  which  my  remonstrance  and  appeal  to 
the  minister  instantly  produced,  I  had  no  reason  to  think 
him  privy  to  the  transaction,  for  late  in  the  evening  of  the 
next  day  Anthony  Smith  was  brought  to  my  gates  by  the 
officers  of  justice,  from  whom  I  would  not  receive  him,  but 
sent  him  back  till  the  day  following,  when  I  required  him  to 
be  delivered  to  me  at  the  same  hour  and  in  the  same  public 
manner  as  they  had  cliosen  to  take  him  from  me,  and  fur- 
ther insisted  that  the  same  criminal  judge  with  his  attend- 
ants should  be  present  at  the  surrender  of  their  prisoner. 
All  this  w^as  exactly  complied  with,  and  the  foolish  magis- 
trate was  hooted  at  by  the  populace  in  the  most  contemptu- 
ous manner.  It  seemed  that  this  wise  judge  was  in  search 
of  an  assassin,  who  was  described  as  an  old  black-complex- 
ioned  fallow  with  a  lame  foot,  whereas  Smith  v/as  a  very 
fair  young  man,  with  red  hair,  and  perfectly  sound  and  ac- 
tive upon  the  legs.  What  were  the  motives  for  this  wanton 
act  of  cruelty  I  never  could  discover ;  I  brought  him  wdth 
me  to  England,  but  the  terrors  he  had  suffered  during  his 
short  but  dismal  confinement  haunted  him  through  every 
stage  of  his  journey,  till  we  passed  the  frontiers  of  Spain. 
When  we  arrived  in  London  I  recommended  him  to  my 
friend  Lord  Rodney,  as  Spanish  clerk  on  board  his  flag  ship, 
but  poor  Smith's  spirit  was  so  broken,  that  he  declined  the 
service,  and  found  a  more  peaceful  occupation  in  a  merchant's 
counting-house. 

I  was  now  in  daily  expectation  of  my  recall,  and  as  my  ov/n 
immediate  negociation  was  shifted,  for  a  time,  into  other 
hands,  I  availed  myself  of  those  means,  v/hich  by  my  parti- 
cular connexions  I  was  possessed  of,  for  collecting  such  a 
body  of  useful  information,  as  might  safely  be  depended  up- 
on, and  this  I  transmitted  to  my  corresponding  minister  in 
my  dispatches  No.  20  of  the  31st  of  January,  and  No.  21  of 
the  3d  of  February,  1781.  I  had  now  no  longer  any  hope 
of  bringing  Spain  into  a  separate  treaty,  whilst  my  court  con- 
tinued to  receive  oveitures,  and  return  answers,  through  the 


268  MEMOIRS  OF 

channel  of  ?»lr.  Hiissey  then  at  Lisbon,  and  Florida  Blanca 
having  imparted  to  me  a  dispatch,  which  he  affected  to  call 
his  uilimatum,  I  plainly  saw  extinction  to  the  treaty  upon 
the  face  of  that  paper,  for  he  would  still  persist  in  the  delu- 
sive notion,  that  he  could  insinuate  articles  and  stipulations 
for  Gibraltar  in  his  communications  through  Mr.  Hussey, 
though  I  by  my  instructions  could  not  pass  a  single  propo- 
sition, in  which  it  might  be  named.  When  he  had  wiitten 
this  letter,  v/hich  he  called  his  ultimatumj  it  seems  to  have 
occurred  to  him  to  communicate  it  to  me  rather  too  late  for 
any  good  purpose,  inasmuch  as  he  had  taken  His  Catholic 
rV'Iajesty's  pleasure  upon  it,  and  m.ade  it  a  state-paper,  before 
he  put  it  into  my  hands.  He  nevertheless  was  earnest  with 
me  to  give  him  my  opinion  of  it,  and  I  did  not  hold  myself 
in  any  respect  bound  to  disguise  from  him  what  I  thought 
of  it,  neither  did  I  scruple  to  suggest  to  him  the  idea,  which 
I  had  formed  in  my  mind,  of  an  expedient,  that  might  have 
V.onciliated  both  parties,  and  would  at  all  events  have  obviat- 
ed those  consequences,  to  which  his  unqualifijed  requisition 
t:ouId  not  fail  to  lead.  It  will  suffice  to  say  that  he  candidly 
declared  his  readiness  to  adopt  my  idea,  and  form  his  letter 
anew  in  conformity  to  it,  if  he  had  not,  by  laying  it  before 
tlie  King,  made  it  a  state-paper,  and  put  it  out  of  his  power 
to  alter  and  new-model  it,  without  a  second  reference  to  the 
royal  pleasure.  This  however  he  was  perfectly  disposed  to 
do,  provided  I  would  give  him  my  suggestions  iyi  writings  as 
a  produceable  authority  for  re-considering  the  question. 
Here  my  instructions  stood  so  irremoveably  in  my  way, 
that,  although  he  tendered  me  his  honour  that  my  interfe- 
rence shiould  be  kept  secret,  I  did  not  venture  to  commiit 
myself,  nor  could  he  be  brought  to  consider  conversation  as 
authority. 

Upon  the  failure  of  this  my  last  effort  I  regarded  the  ne- 
gociation  as  lost,  and,  reflecting  upon  wiiat  had  passed  in  the 
conference  above  referred  to,  when  I  had  finished  my  letter 
No.  20  of  the  31st  of  January,  1781,  I  attached  to  it  the  fol- 
lowing paragraph,  viz. — 

*^  Since  Count  Florida  Blanca  dispatched  his  express  to 
Lisbon  I  have  not  heard  from  Mr.  Hussey,  neither  do  I  know 
any  thing  of  his  commission,  but  what  Count  Florida  Blan- 
ra's  answer  opens  to  me,  and  as  I  must  believe  that  in  great 
part  a  finesse,  I  cannot  but  lament,  that  it  had  not  been  prC" 
pared  by  discussion  . — " 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  269 

As  the  court  of  Spain  was  now  become  the  centre  of  some 
very  interesting  and  important  intrigues,  by  which  she  was 
attempting  to  impose  the  project  of  a  general  pacification 
under  the  pretended  mediation  of  Russia  only,  and  to  substi- 
tute this  project  in  the  place  of  the  separate  and  exclusive 
treaty,  now  on  the  point  of  dissolution,  I  felt  myself  justifi- 
ed in  taking  every  measure,  which  my  judgment  dictated, 
and  my  connexions  gave  me  opportunity  to  pursue,  for 
bringing  that  event  to  pass,  of  which  I  apprize  Lord  Hills- 
borough in  the  following  paragraph  of  my  letter  No.  20, 
viz. — 

"  An  express  from  Vienna  brought  to  Count  Kaunitz,  in 
the  evening  of  the  27th  instant,  the  important  particulars 
relative  to  the  mediation  of  his  imperial  majesty  jointly  with- 
the  empress  of  Russia.  This  court  being  at  the  Pardo,  th^ 
Ambassador  Kaunitz  took  the  next  day  for  communicating 
with  Count  Florida  Blanca,  and  yesterday  a  courier  arrived 
from  Paris  with  the  instructions  of  that  court  to  Count 
Montmorin  on  the  subject. 

"  When  the  minister  of  Spain  shall  deliver  the  sentiments 
of  His  Catholic  Majesty  to  the  imperial  ambassador,  which 
will  take  place  on  the  day  after  to-morrow,  they  will  probably 
be  found  conformable  to  those  of  France,  of  which  I  find 
Count  Kaunitz  is  already  possest.  I  shall  think  it  my  duty 
to  apprize  your  lordship  of  any  particulars,  that  may  come 
to  my  knowledge,  proper  for  your  information.—" 

In  my  letter  No.  21,  of  the  3d  of  February,  I  acquaint 
Lord  Hillsborough  that  "  the  answer  of  Spain  to  the  propo- 
sition of  the  Emperor's  mediation  was  made  on  the  clay 
mentioned  in  my  letter  No.  20,  and  as  I  then  believed  it 
would  conform  to  that  of  France,  so  in  effect  it  happened, 
with  this  further  circumstance,  that  in  future  reference  is  to 
be  made  to  the  Spa.nish  ambassador  at  Paris,  v/ho  in  concert 
with  the  minister  of  France  is  to  speak  for  his  court,  being 
instructed  in  all  cases  for  that  purpose." 

Upon  this  arrangement  I  observe  that  it  is  made — ^'  As 
well  to  sooth  the  jealousy  of  the  French  court,  who  in  their 
answer  glanced  at  the  separate  negociation  here  carrying  on 
with  Great  Britain,  as  for  other  obvious  reasons — "  In 
speaking  of  the  Emperor's  proposed  mediation  I  explain 
the  reasons  that  prevc;dled  with  me  for  expressing  my  wish- 
es in  a  letter  No.  8  of  the  4th  of  August — "  That  tlie  good 
offices  of  the  imperial  court  might  maintain  their  preceden  - 


270  MEMOIRS  OF 

cy  before  those  of  any  other,  and  that  I  am  well  assucedi 
was  owini^  to  the  knowlecl.f^e  Russia  had  of  these  overtur 
iTiadcTby  the  imperial  court,  that  she  put  her  propositions  toJ 
the  bellii^erent  powers  in  terms  so  guarded  and  so  general>j 
as  sr.oiild  not  awaken  any  jealousy  in  the  first  proponent," 
and  I  add,  '*•  that  I  know  the  instructions  of  Monsieur  dei 
Zinowieff,  the  Russian  ambassador,  to  have  been  so  precise! 
on  this  liead,  so  far  removed  from  all  idea  of  the  formal  over-l 
ture  pretended  by  the  Spanish  minister,  that  I  think  he  I 
would  liardly  have  been  induced  to  deliver  in  any  nuritingy 
as  Monsieur  Siniolin  did  in  London,  although  it  had  been  so 
desired.*' 

I  shall  obtrude  upon  my  readers  only  one  more  extract 
from  this  letter,  in  which — "  I  beg  leave  to  add  a  word  in 
explanation  of  what  I  observe  at  the  conclusion  of  my  letter 
No.  20,  touching  the  answer  made  to  Mr.  Hussey,  viz.  that 
k  vj-  J  to  be  ivisked  it  had  been  jireceded  by  a  discussion — this 
I  said,  ray  Lord,  because  the  answer  was  no  sooner  settled 
and  given  to  the  King,  than  a  disposition  evidently  took 
place  to  have  re-considered  and  modified  the  stipulation  for 
Gibraltar,  novr  so  glaringly  inadmissible  ;  but  this  and  every 
other  observation  toucllng  our  negociation,  traversed  by  so 
many  unforeseen  events,  will  for  the  future,  as  I  hope,  find 
its  course  in  a  jnore  general  and  successful  channel-^." 

i  make  no  other  comment  upon  the  good  or  ill  policy  of 
laying  me  imder  those  restrictions,  but  that  I  could  else  have 
prevented  the  transmission  of  that  article,  v/hich  gave  the 
deatii-blow  to  my  negociation. 

For  .this  I  v/as  prepared,  and  after  the  revolution  of  a  few 
days  received  his  majesty's  recall,  communicated  to  me  in 
the  followin,g  letter  : 

"  St.  James's,  14th  February,   178  L 
^^  Sh>, 

'^  I  am  sorry  to  find  from  your  last  letter  No.  19,  and  from 
that  written  from  Count  de  Florida  Blanca  to  Mr.  Flussey, 
which'  the  latter  received  at  Lisbon,  that  an  entire  stop  is 
put  to  the  pleasing  expectation,  which  had  been  formed  from 
your  residence  in  Spain.  Had  I  been  as  well  informed  of 
the  intentions  of  the  court  of  Madrid  when  you  went  abroad, 
as  I  now  ani,  you  would  certainly  not  have  had  the  trouble 
and  fatit;ue  of  so  long  a  voyage  and  journey. 

"  There  remains  nothing  now  for  me  but  to  acquaint  you, 
tbat  I  am  commanded  by  the  king  to  signify  to  you  his  ma- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  271 

jesty's  pleasure,  that  you  do  immediately  return  to  Eni^- 
land  :  when  I  say  immediately,  it  is  not  intended  that  your 
departure  should  have  the  appearance  of  resentment,  or 
that  you  should  be  deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  expressinj^- 
a  just  sense  of  the  marks  of  civility  and  attention,  which  Mr. 
Cumberland  has  received  since  his  arrival  in  Madrid. 
I  am,  with  ^reat  truth  and  regard, 
Sir, 

Your  most  obedient 
Humble  servant, 
(Signed)  Hillsborough." 

I  had  now  his  majesty's  commands,  signified  to  me  as 
above,  for  my  return  to  England,  and  his  lordship's  inter- 
pretiition  of  them  to  direct  my  behaviour  in  avoiding  all  ap- 
pearance of  resentment^  which  I  did  not  feel,  and  express- 
ing that  sense  of  gratitude,  which  I  did  feel,  for  the  many 
marks  of  civility  and  attention,  v/hich  I  had  received  in  the 
person  of  i1/r.  Cumberland^  since  his  arrival  in  Madrid.  To 
these  excellent  rules  of  conduct  I  was  prepared  to  pay  the 
most  correct  and  cheerful  obedience. 

For  the  favour  of  his  lordship's  information,  that  he  would 
have  spared  me  the  trouble  and  fatigue  of  my  long  journey, 
if  he  had  been  aware  that  tliere  was  no  occasion  for  my  taking 
it,  I  could  not  but  be  duly  thankful,  and  I  am  most  sincere- 
ly sorry  that  nobody  could  be  found  with  prescience  to  in- 
form his  lordship  v/hatthe  intentions  of  the  court  of  Madrid 
would  be  for  a  whole  year  to  come,  nor  to  apprize  me  v/hat 
my  recompense  would  be  upon  the  expiration  of  it.  If  such 
inspiration  had  been  vouchsafed  to  both,  I  think  I  can  guess 
who  would  have  been  the  greater  gainer  of  the  two. 

Had  any  kind  good-natured  incendiary  been  so  confiden- 
tial as  to  have  told  me,  that  it  was  his  intention  to  set  fire  to 
London  as  soon  as  I  was  well  out  of  it  ;  or  had  Count  Flori- 
da Blanca  had  the  candour  to  have  premised,  that  his  invita- 
tion of  me  into  Spain  had  no  other  object  in  view  but  to  give 
nie  the  amusement  of  a  tour,  and  himself  the  pleasure  of 
my  company,  it  would  perhaps  have  been  very  flattering  to 
my  vanity,  but  I  don't  think  it  would  have  suited  my  prin- 
ciple to  have  passed  it  o^  for  a  negociation,  and  I  am  quite 
convinced  it  would  not  have  suited  my  finances  to  have  paid 
his  exci:llency  the  visit,  and  sacrificed  my  fortune  to  the 
amusement  of  it. 

It  certainly  would  be  extremely  convenient,  if  wx  could 


272  MEMOIRS  OF 

always  see  to  the  end  of  an  experiment  before  we  undertak 
it.  I  could  not  see  to  the  end  of  the  riots  in  London,  whejj 
they  were  reported  to  be  so  terrible,  yet  I  had  predicted  al 
truly  as  if  I  had  foreseen  it,  and  was  reprimanded  notwithi 
standing;  if  then  I  acted  wrong  by  guessing  right  at  the 
only  favourable  occurrence,  that  happened  whilst  I  was  in 
Spain,  how  should  I  have  escaped  a  severer  reproof  if  I  had 
been  as  successful  in  foretelling  the  many  evil  occurrences 
of  that  disastrous  year,  during  the  whole  course  of  which  ^ 
kept  alive  a  treaty,  which  was  never  lost  till  it  was  taken  oulj 
of  my  hands  ? 

If  here  I  seem  to  speak  too  vainly  of  my  unsuccessful" 
services,  I  have  to  appeal  to  the  testimony  of  that  great  and 
able  minister.  Prince  Kaunitz,  who  together  with  his  tender 
of  the  mediation  of  the  imperial  court,  communicated  to  the 
British  cabinet,  suggests  a  wish,  that  I  may  be  included  ia 
the  commission,  if  such  shall  be  appointed  at  the  general 
congress  ;  and  is  pleased  to  give  for  his  reason,  the  favour- 
able impressions,  which  his  correspondence  with  Spain,  had 
given  him,  of  my  conduct  there  in  carrying  on  a  very  ardu- 
ous business,  which  many  circumstances  contributed  to 
embarrass. — This  I  should  never  have  had  the  gratification 
to  know,  had  it  not  been  communicated  to  me  by  a  friend 
after  my  return  to  England,  who,  concluding  I  had  been 
informed  of  it,  was  complimenting  me  upon  it.  Thus  I 
went  abroad  to  find  friendship  and  protection,  and  came  home 
to  meet  mjustice  and  oppression. 

If  the  following  fact,  which  is  correctly  true,  and  which 
I  now  for  the  first  time  make  public,  shall  prove  that  those, 
whom  I  could  not  put  at  peace  wich  my  country,  were  yet  at 
perfect  peace  with  me,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  suspected  of 
having  overstrained  the  privilege  allowed  me  by  my  letter  of 
recall,  and  carried  my  complaisance  too  far  upon  my  farev/ell 
visit  to  the  Spanish  minister  at  the  Pardo,  I  certainly  har- 
boured no  resentment  in  my  heart,  and  having  free  leave 
to  avoid  the  appearance  of  it,  had  no  object  but  to  expres^L 
as  well  as  I  was  able  the  grateful  sense  I  entertained  of  the 
many  favours  which  the  King  and  court  of  Spain  had  conde- 
scended to  bestow  upon  me  and  mine.  In  replying  to  these 
acknowledgments,  so  justly  due.  Count  Florida  Blanca,  as- 
suming an  air  of  more  than  ordinary  gravity,  and  delivering 
himself  slowly  and  distinctly,  as  one,  who  wishes  that  a 
word  should  not  be  lost,  addressed  the  following  speech  to 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  273 

me,  which  according  to  my  invariable  practice,  I  wrote 
\lo\vn  and  rendered  into  English  in  my  entry  book,  whilst  it 
was  yet  fresh  in  my  memory  ;  and  from  that  record  I  have 
transcribed  not  only  this,  but  every  other  speech,  that  I  have 
given  as  authentic  in  these  Memoirs-r 

*'  Sir,  the  King  my  Sovereign  has  been  entirely  satisfied 
with  every  part  of  your  conduct  during  the  time  you  have 
resivled  amongst  us.  His  majesty  is  convinced  that  you 
have  done  your  duty  to  your  own  court,  and  exerted  yourself 
with  sincere  good  will  to  promote  that  pacification,  which 
circumstances  out  of  your  reach  to  foresee,  or  to  controul, 
seem  for  the  present  to  have  suspended.  And  now,  Sir, 
you  will  be  pleased  to  take  in  good  part  what  I  have  to  say 
to  you  with  regard  to  your  claims  for  indemnification  on  the 
score  of  your  expenses,  in  which  I  have  reason  to  appre- 
hend you  vvdli  find  yourself  abandoned  and  deceived  by  your 
employers.  I  have  it  therefore  in  command  to  tell  you, 
that  the  King  my  Sovereign  has  taken  this  into  his  gracious 
consideration,  and  tenders  to  you  through  me  full  and  ample 
compensation  for  all  expenses,  which  you  have  incurred  by 
your  coming  into  Spain  ;  being  unwilling  that  a  gentleman, 
who  has  resorted  to  his  court,,  and  put  himself  under  his  im- 
mediate protection,  Avithout  a  public  character,  honestly 
endeavouring  to  promote  the  mutual  good  and  benefit  of 
both  countries,  should  suffer,  as  you  surely  will  do,  if  you 
withstand  the  offer,  which  I  have  now  the  honour  to  make 
knov/n  to  you — ." 

What  I  said  in  answer  to  this  generous,  but  inadmissible 
offer,  I  shall  make  no  parade  of ;  it  is  enough  to  say  that  I 
did  not  accept  a  single  dollar  from  the  King  of  Spain,  or  any 
in  authority  under  him,  which,  as  far  as  a  negative  can  be 
proved,  was  made  clear,  when  upon  my  journey  homewards 
my  bills  were  stopped,  and  my  credit  so  completely  bank- 
rupt, that  I  might  have  gone  to  prison  at  Bayonne,  if  I  had 
not  borrowed  five  hundred  pounds  of  my  friendly  fellow- 
traveller  Marchetti,  which  enabled  me  to  pay  my  way 
through  France  and  reach  my  own  country. 

How  it  came  to  pass  that  my  circumstances  should  be  so 
well  known  to  Count  Florida  Blanca  is  easily  accounted  for, 
when  the  dishonouring  of  my  bills  by  Mr.  Devisme  at  Lis- 
bon, through  whose  hands  the  Spanish  banker  passed  them, 
was  notorious  to  more  than  half  Madrid,  and  could  not  be 
unknov/n  to  the  minister.     The  fact  is,  that  I  had  come  into 


274  MEMOIRS  OF 

Spain  without  any  other  security  than  the  good  faith  of  go^ 
ernment,  upon  promise  pledged  to  me  through  Mr.  Robini 
son,  secretary  of  the  treasury,  that  all  bills  drawn  by  me 
upon  my  banker  in  Pall  Mall,  should  be  instantly  replaced 
to  my  credit,  upon  my  accompanying  them  with  a  letter  of 
advice  to  the  said  secretary  Robinson.  This  letter  of  advice 
I  regularly  attached  to  every  draft  I  made  upon  Messrs. 
Crofts,  Devaynes  8c  Co.  but  from  the  day  that  I  left  London 
to  the  day  that  I  returned  to  it,  including  a  period  of  four- 
teen months,  not  a  single  shilling  was  replaced  to  my  ac- 
count with  my  bankers,  who  persisted  in  advancing  to  my 
occasions  with  a  liberality  and  confidence  in  my  honour,  that 
I  must  ever  reflect  upon  vvith  the  warmest  gratitude.  If  I 
was  improvident  in  relying  upon  these  assurances,  they^ 
who  made  them,  were  inexcusable  in  breaking  them,  and 
betraying  me  into  unmerited  distress.  I  solemnly  aver  thafL 
I  had  the  positive  pledge  of  Treasury  through  Mr.  Robin< 
son  for  replacing  every  draft  I  should  make  upon  my  banker 
and  a  very  large  sum  was  named,  ?^s  applicable  at  my  dia 
cretion,  if  the  service  should  require  it.  I  could  explaii 
this  further,  but  I  forbear.  I  had  one  thousand  pounds  ad 
vanced  to  me  upon  setting  out ;  my  private  credit  suppliei 
every  farthing  beyond  that ;  for  the  truth  of  which  I  neet 
only  to  refer  the  reader  to  the  following  letter—* 

"  To  John  Robinson,  Esquire,  ^c. 

"  Madrid,  8th  of  March,  1781. 
*'«  Sir, 

"  My  banker  informs  me  of  a  difficulty,  which  hai 
arisen  in  replacing  the  bills,  which  I  have  had  occasior 
to  draw  upon  him  for  the  expenses  of  my  commission  a 
this  court. 

"  As  I  have  not  had  the  honour  of  hearing  from  you  on 
this  subject,  and  as  it  does  not  appear  that  he  had  seen  yon 
when  he  wrote  to  me,  the  alarm,  which  such  an  event  wouh 
else  have  given  me,  is  mitigated  by  this  consideration,  as 
am  sure  there  can  be  no  intention  in  governm.ent  to  disgrace 
me  at  this  court  in  a  commission,  undertaken  on  my  par 
without  any  other  stipulation  than  that  of  defraying  my  ex» 
penses.  I  flatter  myself  therefore  that  you  have  before  thii 
done  what  is  needful  in  conformity  to  what  was  settled  orf 
our  parting.    Sufler  me  to  add,  that  by  the  partition  I  havi 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  275 

I  made  of  my  office  with  the  gentleman  who  executes  it,  by 
I  the  expenses  preparatory  to  my  journey,  all  which  I  took 
:  on  myaelf,  and  by  many  others  since  my  departure,  which 
I  I  have  not  thought  proper  to  put  to  the  public  account,  I  have 
I  greatly  burdened  my  private  alTairs  during  my  attendance  on 
[  the  business  1  am  engaged  in. 

"  That  I  have  regulated  my  family  here  for  the  space  of 
;  near  a  twelvemonth  with  all  possible  oeconomy  upon  a  scale 
in  every  respect  as  private,  and  void  of  ostentation,  as  pos- 
I  sible,  is  notorious  to  all  who  know  me  here  ;  but  a  man  must 
also  know  this  court  and  country  to  judge  what  the  current 
charges  of  my  situation  must  inevitably  be  ;  what  the  occa' 
sional  ones  have  been  can  only  be  explained  by  myself  ;  and 
as  I  can  clearly  make  it  appear,  that  I  have  neitlier  misap- 
plied the  money,  nor  abused  the  trust  of  government  in  any 
instance,  I  cannot  merit,  and  I  am  persuaded  I  shall  not 
experience,  any  misunderstanding, or  unkindness. 
"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  k^ci^c, 

"  R.C' 
I  might  have  spared  myself  the  trouble  of  this  humiliating 
appeal.  It  produced  just  what  it  should  produce — notliing  ; 
for  it  was  addressed  to  the  feelings  of  those  who  had  no  feel- 
ings ;  and  called  for  justice,  where  no  justice  was,  no  mer- 
cy, no  compassion,  honour  or  good  faith. 

I  wearied  the  door  of  Lord  North  till  his  very  servants 
drove  me  from  it.  I  witli stood  the  offer  of  a  benevolent 
monarch,  whose  munificence  would  have  rescued  me  ;  and 
I  embraced  ruin  in  my  own  country  to  preserve  my  honour 
as  a  subject  of  it ;  selling  every  acre  of  my  hereditary  estate, 
jointured  on  my  wife  by  marriage  settlement,  Avho  gener- 
ously concurred  in  the  sacrifice,  which  my  improvident  re- 
liance upon  the  faith  of  government  compelled  me  to  make. 
But  I  ought  to  speak  of  these  things  with  more  modera- 
tion, so  many  years  having  passed,  and  so  many  of  the  par- 
ties having  died,  since  they  took  place.  In  prudence  and 
propriety  these  pages  ought  not  to  have  seen  the  light,  till 
the  writer  of  them  was  no  more  ;  neither  would  they,  could 
I  have  persisted  in  my  resolution  for  withholding  them,  till 
that  event  had  consigned  them  into  other  hands  ;  but  there 
is  sometijing  paramount  to  prudence  and  propriety,  which 
wrests  ti^eui  from  me— 

My  fiovertijy  but  not  my  will^  consents. 
The  copy-right  of  these  Memoirs  produced  to  me  the 


276  MEMOIRS  OF 

sum  of  five  hundred  pounds,  and  if,  through  the  candoi 
and  protection  of  a  generous  public,  they  shaii  turn  out  m 
bad  bargain  to  the  purchaser,  1  shall  be  most  sincerely  thank- 
ful, and  my  conscience  will  be  at  rest — but  I  look  back,  and 
find  myself  still  at  Madrid,  though  on  the  point  of  my  depar- 
ture— On  the  1 5th  of  March  I  write  to  the  Earl  of  Hillsb 
rough  as  follows,  viz. 


"  My  Lord, 

"  On  the  1 1th  instant  I  had  the  honour  of  your  lordship- 
letter,  dated  the  i  4th  of  February,  and  in  obedience  to  his 
majesty's  commands,  therein  signified,  I  took  occasion  on  the 
saiiie  day  of  demanding  my  passports  of  the  minister  of  Spv'hi. 
Agreeably  to  tne  indulgence,  granted  me  by  His  Majesty,  I 
yesterday  took  leave  of  Count  Florida  Blanca  at  the  Pardo, 
and  this  day  my  family  presented  themselves  to  the  Princess 
of  Asturias  at  the  convent  of  Santo  Domingo  el  Real,  who 
received  their  parting  acknowledgments  v/ith  many  expres- 
sions of  kindness  and  condescension.  I  am  to  see  the  King 
of  Spain  on  Sunday,  and  expect  to  leave  Madrid  on  Tuesday 
or  Wednesday. 

"  The  ambassador  of  France  having  in  the  most  obliging 
manner  given  me  a  passport,  and  your  lordship's  letter  con- 
taining no  directions  to  the  contrary,  I  propose  to  return  by 
Bayonne  and  Bordeaux,  to  which  route  I  am  compelled  by 
the  state  of  my  health,  and  that  of  part  of  my  family. 
I  have  the  honour  to  be,  is^c. 

''  R    C." 

"  I  hope  your  lordship  has  received  my  letter  No.  18, 
also  tliose  numbered  20  and  21,  which  conclude  what  I  have 
written." 

To  the  sub-minister  Cam.po,  who  had  been  confidential 
throughout,  and  present  at  almost  every  conference  I  had 
held  with  the  Premier,  I  wrote  as  follows — 

«  Madrid,  March  S^Oth,  1781. 
"  You  have  done  all  things,  my  dear  Sir,  with  the  greatest 
kindness  and  the  politest  attention.  I  have  your  passports, 
and  as  my  baggage  is  now  ready  to  be  inspected,  I  v.  ait  the 
directions  of  tiie  Minister  Musquiz,  whicii  I  pray  you  now 
to  dispatch.     To-morrow  in  the  forenoon  at  1 1  o'clock,  of 


RICHARD  CUMBERLANl^  27r 

any  other  hour  more  convenient  to  the  officers  of  the  cus- 
toms will  suit  me  to  attend  upon  them. 

*•'  You  tell  me  that  no  more  could  be  done  for  mc,  were 
I  an  ambassador  ;  I  am  persuaded  of  it,  for  being  as  I  am,  u 
dependant  on  your  protection,  and  entrusted  to  you  by  my 
country,  how  can  I  doubt  but  that  the  Spanish  point  of  honour 
will  concede  to  me  not  less,  (and  I  sliould  not  wonder  if  it 
granted  more)  than  any  ambassador  can  claim  by  privilege. 

"  I  have  never  ceased  to  feel  a  perfect  confidence  in  my 
situation,  nor  ever  wished  for  any  other  title  to  all  the  rights 
of  hospitality  and  protection,  than  what  I  derive  from  the 
trust,  which  my  court  has  consigned  to  me,  and  that  which 
I  repose  in  yours. 

"  I  bring  this  letter  in  my  pocket  to  the  Pardo,  lest  you 
should  not  be  visible  at  the  hour  I  shall  arrive.  I  beg  to  re- 
commend to  you  the  case  of  the  English  prisoners,  who  have 
undersigned  the  enclosed  paper. 

''  I  hope  to  set  out  on  Friday  ;  be  assured  I  shall  carry 
with  me  a  lasting  remembrance  of  your  obliging  favours^ 
and  I  shall  ardently  seize  every  occasion  in  my  future  life 
of  expressing  a  due  sense  of  them. 

"  If  your  leisure  serves  to  favour  us  with  another  visit  at 
Madrid,  we  shall  be  happy  to  see  you,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to 
confer  with  you  on  the  subject  of  the  Spanish  prisoners,  and 
apprize  you  of  the  language  I  shall  hold  on  that  topic  upon 
my  return  home. 

"  On  all  occasions,  and  in  every  place  I  shall  conscien- 
tiously adhere  to  truth.  Let  me  say  for  the  last  time  I  shall 
speak  of  myself,  that  no  man  ever  entered  Spain  with  a  more 
conciliating  disposition,  and  I  hope  I  leave  behind  me  some 
proofs  of  patience. 

"  Farewel !  ever  faithfully  yours, 

"R.  C' 

On  the  24th  of  March  1781,  having  taken  a  last  painful 
leave  of  the  worthy  Abbe  Curtis  and  the  rest  of  my  friends, 
at  half  past  ten  in  the  forenoon  I  set  out  upon  my  journey. 
My  party  consisted  of  my  wife,  my  two  eldest  daughters  and 
my  infant  daughter,  born  in  Spain,  at  the  breast  of  a  Spanish 
nurse,  a  wild  but  affectionate  creature,  native  of  San  Andero  : 
the  good  Marchetti  and  the  poor  redeemed  prisoner  Antony 
Smith  accompanied  us,  and  we  had  three  English  servants, 
two  of  whicii,   (Thomas  Camis  and  Mary  Samson)  had 


2r8  MEMOIRS  OF 


I 


been  in  my  family  from  their  earliest  years,  and  have  never 
since  served  any  other  master.  Two  Spanish  coaches, 
drawn  ])y  six  mules  each,  witii  mules  for  our  out-riders,  i 
constituted  our  travelling  equipage  and  I  contracted  for  their  1 
attending  upon  us  to  Bayonne. — They  are  heavy  clumsy 
carriages,  but  they  carry  a  great  deal  of  baggage,  and  if  the 
traveller  has  patience  to  put  up  with  their  very  early  hours 
and  slow  pace,  there  is  nothing  else  to  complain  of. 

Madrid,  which  may  be  considered  as  the  capital  of  Spain, 
though  it  is  not  a  city,  disappoints  you  if  you  expect  to  find 
suburbs,  or  villas,  or  even  gardens  when  you  have  passed 
the  gates,  being  almost  as  closely  environed  with  a  desert  as 
Palmyra  is  in  its  present  state  of  ruin.  The  Spaniards  them- 
selves have  no  great  taste  for  cultivation,  and  the  attachment 
to  the  chace,  which  seeiTisto±)e  the  reigning  passion  of  the 
Spanish  sovereigns,  conspires  with  the  indolence  of  the 
people  in  suffering  every  royal  residence  to  be  surrounded 
by  a  savage  and  unseemly  wilderness.  The  lands,  which 
should  contribute  to  supply  the  markets,  being  thus  deliver- 
ed over  to  waste  and  barrenness,  are  considered  only  as  pre- 
serves  for  game  of  various  sorts,  which  includes  every  thing 
the  gun  can  slay,  and  these  are  as  much  res  sacra  as  the  al* 
tars,  or  the  monks  who  serve  them.  This  soliiudo  ante  os^ 
fAum  did  not  contribute  to  support  our  spirits,  neither  die 
tl  e  incessant  jingling  of  the  mules'  bells  relieve  the  tscdiuin 
of  the  road  to  Guadarama,  where  we  were  agreeably  sur- 
prised by  the  Counts  Kaunitz  and  Pietra  Santa,  who  passed 
that  night  in  our  company,  and  next  morning  with  many 
friendly  adieus  departed  for  Madrid,  never  to  meet  again-^ 
Animas  quels  caiididiores 
j\usquani  terra  tulit — 

The  next  day  we  passed  the  mountains  of  Guadarama  by 
a  magnificent  causeway,  and  entered  Old  Castile.  Here 
the  country  began  to  change  for  the  better  ;  the  town  of  Vil- 
la Castin  presents  a  very  agreeable  spectacle,  being  new  and 
flourishing,  with  a  handsome  house  belonging  to  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Torre-Manzanares,  who  is  in  part  proprietor  oi 
the  town.  This  illustrious  lady  was  just  now  under  a  tem- 
porary cloud  for  having  been  party  in  a  frolic  with  the  young 
and  animated  Duchess  of  Alva,  who  had  ventured  to  exhibit 
her  fcur  person  on  the  public  parade  in  the  character  of  pos- 
tillion to  her  own  equipage,  whilst  Torre-Manzanares,  moun- 
ted the  box  as  coachman,  and  other  gallant  spirits  took  their 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  279 

stations  behind  as  footmen,  all  habited  in  the  splendid  blue 
and  silver  liveries  of  the  house  of  Alva.  In  some  countries  a 
whim  like  this  would  have  passed  off  with  eclat,in  many  with 
impunity,  but  in  Spain,  under  the  government  of  a  moral 
and  decorous  monarch,  it  was  regarded  in  so  grave  a  light, 

?  that,  although  the  great  lady  postillion  escaped  with  a  repri- 
mand, the  lady  coachman  was  sent  to  her  castle  at  a  distance 
from  the  capital,  and  doomed  to  do  penance  in  solitude  and 

I  obscurity. 

We  were  now  in  the  country  for  the  Spanish  wool,  and  this 
place  being  a  considerable  mart  for  that  valuable  article,  is 
furnished  with  a  very  large  and  commodious  shearing-house. 
We  slept  at  a  poor  little  village  called  San  Chidrian,  and 
being  obliged  to  change  our  quarters  on  account  of  other 
travellers,  who  had  been  before-hand  with  us,  we  were  fain 
to  put  up  with  the  wretched  accommodations  of  a  very  wretch- 
ed posada. 

The  third  day's  journey  presented  to  us  a  fine  champaign 
country,  abounding  in  corn  and  well  peopled.  Leaving  the 
town  of  Arebalo,  which  made  a  respectable  appearance,  on 
our  right,  we  proceeded  to  Almedo,  a  very  remarkable  place, 
being  surrounded  with  a  Moorish  wall  and  towers  in  very 
tolerable  preservation  ;  Almedo  also  has  a  Une  convent  and 
a  handsome  church. 

The  fourth  day's  journey,  being  March  the  27th,  still  led 
us  through  a  fair  country,  rich  in  corn  and  wine.  The  river 
Adaga  runs  through  a  grove  of  pines  in  a  deep  channel  very 
romantic,  wandering  through  a  vast  tract  of  vineyards  vv  ith- 
out  fences.  The  weather  was  serene  and  fresh,  and  gave  us 
spirits  to  enjoy  the  scenery,  which  was  nev/  and  striking. 
We  dined  at  Valdestillas,  a  mean  little  town,  and  in  the  even- 
ing reached  Valladolid,  where  bigotry  may  be  said  to  have 
established  its  head  quarters.  The  gate  of  the  city,  which 
is  of  modern  construction,  consists  of  three  arches  of  equal 
span,  and  that  very  narrow ;  the  centre  of  these  is  elevated 
with  a  tribune,  and  upon  that  is  placed  a  pedestrian  stiUue 
of  Carlos  III.  This  gate  delivers  you  into  a  spacious  square 
svHU'ounded  by  convents  and  churches,  and  passing  this, 
which  offers  nothing  attractive  to  delay  you,  you  enter  the~ 
old  gate  of  the  city,  newly  painted  in  bad  fresco,  and  orna- 
mented witii  an  equestrian  statue  of  the  reigning  king  av  ith  a 
Latin  inscription,  very  just  to  his  virtues,  but  very  little  to 
^be  honour  of  the  writer  of  it.     \  ou  now  find  yourself  in  onfj 


380  MEMOIRS  OP 


11 


of  the  most  gloomy,  desolate  and  dirty  towns,  that  can  be 
conceived,  the  great  square  much  re;sembUng  that  of  the,, 
Plaza-mayor  in  Madrid,  the  houses  painted  in  grotsequi 
fresco,  despicably  executed,  and  the  whole  in  miserable  coi^ 
dition.  I  was  informed  that  the  convents  amount  to  betweei 
thirty  and  forty.  There  is  both  an  English  and  a  Scottii 
college  ;  the  former  under  the  government  of  Doctor  She^ 
herd,  a  man  of  very  agreeable,  cheerful,  natural  manners 
I  became  acquainted  with  him  at  Madrid  through  the  intro 
duction  of  my  friend  Doctor  Geddes,  late  Principal  of  th^ 
latter  college,  but  since  Bishop  of  Mancecos,  Missionary  anf 
Vicar  General  at  Aberdeen.  I  had  an  introductory  letter  t( 
the  Intendant,  but  my  stay  was  too  short  to  avail  myself  q 
it ;  and  I  visited  no  church  but  the  great  cathedral  of  thi 
Benedictines,  where  Mass  was  celebrating,  and  the  altar 
and  whole  edifice  were  arrayed  in  all  their  splendour.  Thi 
fathers  were  extremely  polite,  and  allowed  me  to  enter  th* 
Sacristy,  where  I  saw  some  valuable  old  paintings  of  the  early 
Spanish  masters,  some  of  a  later  date,  and  a  series  of  Bene- 
dictine Saints,  who  if  they  are  not  the  most  rigid,  are  indis^ 
putably  the  richest,  order  of  religious  in  Spain. 

Our  nextday's  journey  advanced  us  only  6  short  leaguesj 
and  set  us  down  in  the  ruinous  to\Vn  of  Duenas,  which  lik( 
Olmedo  is  surrounded  by  a  Moorish  fortification,  the  gat< 
of  which  is  entire.  The  Calasseros,  obstinate  as  theii 
mules,  accord  to  you  in  nothing  but  in  admitting  indiscrim- 
inately  a  load  of  baggage,  that  would  almost  revolt  a  waggon? 
and  this  is  indispensibie,  as  you  must  carry  beds,  provisions! 
cooking  vessels,  and  every  article  for  rest  and  sustenance 
not  excepting  bread,  for  in  this  country  an  inn  means  $ 
hovel,  in  which  you  m^iy  light  a  fire,  if  you  can  defend  youi 
right  to  it,  and  find  a  dunghill  called  a  bed,  if  you  can  sub 
mit  to  lie  down  in  it. 

Our  sixth  day's  stage  brought  us  to  the  banks  of  the  Do 
uro,  which  we  skirted  and  kept  in  sight  during  the  wholaj 
day  from  Duenas  through  Torrequemarra  to  Villa  Rodri^ 
go.  The  stone  bridge  at  Torrequemarra  is  a  noble  edific 
of  eight  and  twenty  arches.  The  windings  of  this  beautiful"" 
river  and  its  rocky  banks,  of  which  one  side  is  always  very, 
steep,  are  romantic  and  present  fine  shapes  of  nature,  to 
which  nothing  is  wanting  but  trees,  and  they  not  always. 
The' vale,  through  which^it  flows,  enclosed  within  these 
rocky  cliiTs;  is  luxurient  in  corn  and  wine  ;  the  soil  in  gen- 


'    RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  281 

eral  of  a  fine  loam  mixed  with  gravel,  and  the  fallows  re- 
markably clean  ;  they  deposit  their  wine  in  caves  lioUov/ed 
out  of  the  rocks.  In  the  mean  time  it  is  to  tlic  bounty  of 
nature  rather  than  to  the  care  and  industry  of  man,  tliut  the 
inhabitant,  squalid  and  loathsome  in  his  person,  is  beholden 
for  that  produce,  which  invites  exertions  that  he  never 
makes,  and  points  to  comforts  that  he  never  tastes.  In  the 
midst  of  all  these  scenes  of  plenty  you  encounter  human 
misery  in  its  worst  attire,  and  ruined  villages  amongst  lux- 
urient  vineyards.  Such  a  bountiful  provider  is  God,  and  so 
improvident  a  steward  is  his  vicegerent  in  this  realm. 

It  should  seem,  that  in  this  valley,  on  the  banks  of  the 
fertilizing  Douro,  would  be  the  proper  scite  for  the  capital 
of  Spain  ;  whereas  Madrid  is  seated  on  a  barren  soil,  beside 
a  meagre  stream,  which  scarce  suffices  to  supply  the  w^ash- 
er-women,  who  make  their  troughs  in  the  shallow  current, 
which  only  has  the  appearance  of  a  river,  when  the  snow- 
melts  upon  the  mountains,  and  turns  the  petty  Manzanares, 
that  just  trickles  through  the  sand,  into  a  roaring  and  im- 
petuous torrent.  Of  the  environs  of  Madrid  I  have  already 
spoken,  and  the  climate  on  the  northern  side  of  the  Guadar- 
amas  is  of  a  much  superior  and  a  more  salubrious  quality, 
being  not  so  subject  to  the  dangerous  extremes  of  heat  and 
cold,  and  much  oftener  refreshed  with  showers,  the  great 
desideratum,  for  which  the  monks  of  Madrid  so  freqently 
importune  their  poor  helpless  saint  Isidore,  and  make  him 
feel  their  vengeance,  whilst  for  months  together  the  unre- 
lenting clouds  will  not  credit  him  with  a  single  drop  of  rain. 

Upon  our  road  this  day  we  purchased  three  lambs  at  the 
price  of  two  pisettes  (shillings)  a  piece,  and  little  as  it  was, 
we  hardly  could  be  said  to  have  had  value  for  our  money. 
Our  wortliy  Marchetti,  being  an  excellent  engineer,  roast- 
ed them  whole  with  surprising  expedition  and  address  in  a 
kitchen  and  at  a  fire,  which  w^ouid  have  puzzled  all  the  re- 
sources of  a  French  cook,  and  which  no  English  scullion 
would  have  approached  in  her  very  worst  apparel.  A  crew 
of  Catalunian  carriers  at  Torrequemara  di:?puted  our  exclu- 
sive title  to  the  fire,  and  with  their  arroz  a  la  ValeiiciaJia 
would  soon  have  ruined  our  roast,  if  our  gallant  provecior 
had  not  put  aside  his  capa,  and  displayed  his  two  epaulets^ 
to  which  military  insignia  the  sturdy  interlopers  instantly 
deferred.  ♦ 

There  is  excellent  morality  to  be  learnt  in  a  jouraey  g£ 

Z       2    " 


282  MEMOIRS  OF 

this  sort.  A  supper  at  Villa  Rodrigo  is  a  better  corrective 
for  fastidiousness  and  false  delicacy  than  all  that  Seneca  and 
Epictetus  can  administer,  and  if  a  traveller  in  Spain  will 
cany  justice  and  fortitude  about  him,  the  Calasscros  will 
teach  him  patience,  and  the  Posadas  vrill  enure  him  to  tem- 
perance ;  having  these  four  cardinal  virtues  in  possession, 
he  has  the  whole  ;  all  Tully's  offices  can't  find  a  fifth. 

On  the  seventh  day  of  our  travel  we  kept  thp  pleasant 
Douro  still  in  sight.  Surely  this  river  plays  his  natural 
sovereign  a  slippery  trick  ;  rises  in  Galicia,  is  nourished 
and  maintained  in  its  course  through  Spaip,  and  as  soon  as 
he  is  become  mature'  in  depth  and  size  for  trade  and  naviga- 
tion, deserts  and  throws  himself  into  the  service  of  Portu- 
gal. This  is  the  case  with  the  Tagus  also  :  this  river  af- 
fords the  Catholic  King  a  little  angling  for  small  fry  at  Al^- 
anjuez,  and  at  Lisbon  becomes  a  magnificent  harbour  to 
give  wealth  and  splendour  to  a  kingdom.  The  Oporto 
mnes,  that  grow  upon  the  banks  of  the  Douro  in  its  renega- 
do  course,  find  a  ready  and  most  profitable  vent  in  England, 
whilst  the  vineyards  of  Castile  languish  from  want  of  a  pur- 
chaser, and  in  some  years  are  absolutely  cast  away,  as  not 
paying  for  the  labour  of  making  them  into  wine. 

The  city  and  castle  of  Burgos  are  well  situated  on  the 
banks  of  the  river  Relancon.  Two  fine  stone  bridges  are 
throw^n  over  that  stream,  and  several  plantations  of  young 
trees  line  the  roads  as  you  approach  it.  The  country  is  well 
watered,  and  the  heights  furnish  excellent  pasture  for  sheep, 
being  of  a  light  downy  soil.  The  cathedral  church  of  Bur- 
gos deserves  the  notice  and  admiration  of  every  traveller, 
and  it  is  with  sincere  regret  I  found  myself  at  leisure  to  de- 
vote no  more  than  one  hour  to  an  edifice,  that  requires  a 
day  to  examine  it  within  side  and  without.  It  is  of  that  or- 
der of  Gothic,  which  is  most  profusely  ornamented  and  en- 
Tished ;  the  tow^ers  are  crowned  with  spires  of  pierced  stone 
work,  raised  upon  arches,  and  laced  all  through  v/ith  open 
work  like  filligree  :  the  windows  and  doors  arc  embellished 
with  innumerable  figures,  admirably  carved  in  stone,  and  in 
perfect  preservation  ;  the  dome  over  the  nave  is  superb,  and 
behind  the  grand  altar  there  is  a  spacious  and  befiiutiful  chap- 
el, erected  by  a  Duke  of  Frejas,  who  lies  entomoed  with  his 
Duchess  with  a  stately  monument  recumbent  with  their 
heads  resting  upon  cushKJns,  in  their  robes  and  coronets, 
svell  sculptured  in  most  exquisite  marble  of  the  purest  v/hite. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  283 

The  bas-relieves  at  the  back  of  the  grand  altar,  represent- 
ing passages  in  the  life  and  actions  of  our  Saviour,  are  won- 
derful samples  of  sculpture,  and  the  carrying  of  the  cross 
in  particular  is  expressed  with  all  the  delicacy  of  Raphael's 
famous  Pasma  de  Sicilia.  The  stalls  of  the  choir  in  brown 
oak  are  finely  executed  and  exhibit  an  innumerable  groupe 
of  figures  :  whilst  the  seats  are  ludicrously  inlaid  with  gro- 
tesque representations  of  fauns  and  satyrs  unaccountably- 
contrasted  with  the  sacred  history  of  the  carved  work,  that 
encloses  them.  The  altars,  chapels,  sacristy  and  cloisters 
arc  equally  to  be  admired,  nor  are  there  wanting  some  fine 
paintings,  though  not  profusely  bestowed.  The  priests  con- 
ducted me  through  every  part  of  the  cathedral  with  the  kind- 
est attention  and  politeness,  though  Mass  was  then  in  high 
celebration. 

When*  I  was  on  my  departure,  and  my  carriages  were  in 
waiting,  a  parcel  of  British  seamen,  who  had  been  prison- 
ers of  w  ar,  most  importunately  besought  me,  that  I  would 
ask  their  liberation  of  the  Bishop  of  Burgos,  and  allow  them 
to  make  their  vvay  out  of  the  country  under  my  protection. 
This  good  Bishop,  in  his  zeal  for  making  converts,  had  ta- 
ken these  fellows  upon  their  w  ord  into  his  list  of  pensioners, 
as  true  proselytes,  and  allowed  them  to  establish  themselves 
in  various  occupations  and  callings,  which  they  now  pro- 
fessed themselves  most  heartily  disposed  to  abandon,  and 
doubted  not  but  I  should  find  him  as  willing  to  release  them, 
as  they  were  to  be  set  free.  Though  I  gave  little  credit  ta 
their  assertions,  I  did  not  refuse  to  make  the  experiment, 
and  wrote  to  the  bishop  in  their  behalf,  promising  to  obtain 
the  release  of  the  like  number  of  Spanish  prisoners,  if  he 
would  allow  me  to  take  these  men  away  with  me.  To  my 
great  surprise  I  instantly  received  his  free  consent  and  per- 
mit under  his  hand  and  seal  to  dispose  of  them  as  I  saw  fit. 
This  I  accordingly  did,  and  by  occasional  reliefs  upon  the 
braces  of  my  carriages  marched  my  party  of  renegadoes 
entire  into  Bayonne,  where  I  got  leave  upon  certain  condi- 
tions to  embark  them  on  board  a  neutral  ship  bound  to  Lis- 
bon, and  consigned  them  to  commodore  Johnstone,  .or  the 
commanding  oificer  for  the  time  being,  to  be  put  on  board, 
and  exchanged  for  the  like  number  of  Spanish  prisoners^ 
which  accordingly  was  done  with  the  exception  of  one  or 
two,  who  turned  aside  by  the  yr^\  I  have  reason  to  believe 
the  good  Bishop  was  thoroughly  sick  of  his  converts,  and  I 


284  MEMOIRS  OF 

encountered  no  opposition  from  the  ladies,  whom  two  of 
three  of  them  had  taken  to  wife.  ^ 

We  pursued  our  eighth  day's  journey  over  a  deep  ricli 
soil,  with  mountains  in  sight  covered  with  snow,  which  had' 
fallen  two  days  before.  There  was  now  a  scene  of  more 
wood,  and  the  face  of  the  country  much  resembled  parts  of 
England.  We  advanced  but  seven  leagues,  the  river  Re-, 
lancon  accompanying  us  for  the  last  three,  where  our  road 
was  cut  out  of  the  side  of  a  steep  cliff,  very  narrow,  and  so 
ill  defended,  that  in  many  places  the  precipice,  considering 
the  mode  in  which  the  Spanish  Calasseros  drive,  was  seri- 
ously alarming.  The  wild  woman  of  San  Andero,  who 
nursed  my  infant,  during  this  day's  journey  was  at  high 
words  vrith  the  witches,  who  twice  pulled  off  her  redecilla, 
and  otherwise  annoyed  her  in  a  very  provoking  manner  till 
we  arrived  at  Breviesca,  a  tolerable  good  Spanish  town, 
where  they  allowed  her  to  repose,  and  we  heard  no  more 
of  them. 

From  Breviesca  we  travelled  through  a  fine  picturesque 
country  of  a  rich  soil  to  Pancorvo  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  range 
of  rocky  mountains,  and  passing  through  a  most  romantic 
fissure  in  the  rock,  a  work  of  great  art  and  labour,  we  reach- 
ed the  river  Ebro,  which  forms  the  boundary  of  Old  Castile. 
Upon  this  river  stands  the  town  of  Miranda,  which  is  ap- 
proached over  a  new  bridge  of  seven  stone  arches  and  we 
lodged  ourselves  for  the  night  in  the  posada  at  the  foot  of  it : 
a  house  of  the  worst  reception  we  had  met  in  Spain,  which 
is  giving  it  as  ill  a  name  as  I  can  well  bestow  upon  any 
house  whatever. 

A  siiort  stage  brought  us  from  Breviesca  to  the  town  of 
Vittoria,  the  capital  of  Alaba,  which  is  one  portion  of  the 
delightful  province  of  Biscay.  We  were  now  for  the  first 
time  lodged  with  some  degree  of  comfort.  We  shewed  our 
passport  at  the  custom-honse,  and  the  administrator  of  the 
post-office  having  desired  to  have  immediate  notice  of  our 
arrival,  I  requested  my  friend  Marchetti  to  go  to  him,  and 
in  the  mean  time  poor  Smith  passed  a  very  anxious  interval 
of  suspense,  fearing  that  he  might  be  stopped  by  order  of 
government  in  this  place,  (a  suspicion  I  confess  not  out  of 
the  range  of  probabilities)  but  it  proved  to  be  only  a  punc- 
tilio of  the  Sub-minister  Campo,  who  had  written  to  this 
gentleman  to  be  particular  jj^  his  attentions  to  us,  enclosing 
his  cardj  as  if  in  person  present  to  take  leave  j  this  mark  of 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  285 

politeness  on  his  part  produced  a  present  from  the  adminis- 
trator of  some  line  asparagus,  and  excellent  sweatmeats,  the 
produce  of  the  country,  with  the  further .  favour  of  a  visit 
from  the  donor,  a  gentleman  of  great  good  manners  and 
much  respectability. 

The  Marquis  Legarda,  Governor  of  Vittoria,  to  whom  I 
had  a  letter  from  Count  D'Yranda,  the  Marquis  D'Al lama- 
da,  and  other  gentlemen  of  the  place,  did  us  the  honour  to 
visit  us,  and  were  extremely  polite.  We  were  invited  by 
tlie  Dominicans  to  their  convent,  and  saw  some  very  exqui- 
site paintings  of  Ribeira  and  Murilla.  At  noon  we  took  our 
departure  for  Mondragone,  passing  through  a  country  of  un- 
describable  beauty.  The  scale  is  vast,  tlie  heights  are  lofty 
wtnout  being  tremendous,  the  cultivation  is  of  various  sorts, 
and  to  be  traced  in  every  spot,  where  the  hand  of  industry 
can  reach  :  a  profusion  of  fruit  trees  in  blossom  coloured  the 
iairdscape  with  such  vivid  and  luxuriant  tints,  that  ^Ve  had 
new  charms  to  admire  upon  every  shift  and  winding  of  the 
road.  The  people  are  laborious,  and  the  fields  being  full  of 
men  and  women  at  their  work  (for  here  both  sexes  make 
common  task)  nothing  could  be  more  animated  than  the 
scenery  ;  'twas  not  in  hum.an  nature  to  present  a  stronger 
contrast  to  the  gloomy  character  and  squalid  indolence  of  the 
Castilians.  And  what  is  it,  which  constitutes  this  marked 
disthiction  between  such  near  neighbours,  subjects  of  the 
same  King,  and  separated  from  each  other  only  by  a  narrow 
stream  ?  It  is  because  the  regal  power,  which  in  Castile  is 
arbitrary,  is  limited  by  local  laws  in  Cataluaia,  and  gives 
passage  for  one  ray  of  liberty  to  visit  that  happier  and  more 
enlightened  country. 

From  Mondragone  we  went  to  Villa  Franca,  w^here  we 
dined,  and  finished  our  twelfth  day's  journey  at  Tolosa  ;  the 
country  still  presented  a  succession  of  the  most  enchanting 
scenery,  but  I  was  now  become  insensible  to  its  beauties,  be- 
ing so  extremely  ill,  that  it  was  not  without  much  difficulty, 
so  excruciating  mere  my  pains,  that  I  reached  Tolosa. 
Here  I  staid  three  days,  and  when  I  found  my  fever  would 
not  yield  to  James's  powder,  I  resolved  to  attempt  getting 
to  Bayonne,  where  I  might  hope  to  find  medical  assistance, 
and  better  accommodation. 

On  the  seventeenth  day,  after  suffering  tortures  from  the 
roughness  of  the  roads,  I  reached  Bayonne,  and  immediate- 
ly put  myself  under  tlie  care  of  Doctor  Vidal,  a  Huguenot 


286  MEMOIRS  OF 

physician.  Here  I  passed  three  miserable  weeks,  and 
though  in  a  state  of  ahnost  continual  delirium  throughout 
the  whole  of  this  time,  I  can  yet  recollect  that  under  Provi-^ 
dence  it  is  only  owing  to  the  unwearied  care  and  tender  at« 
tentions  of  my  ever-watchful  wife  (assisted  by  her  faithful 
servant  Mary  Samson)  that  I  was  kept  alive  ;  from  hei^ 
hands  I  consented  to  receive  sustenance  and  medicine,  and 
to  her  alone  in  the  disorder  of  my  senses  I  was  uniformly 
obedient. 

It  was  at  this  period  of  time  that  the  aggravating  news  ar- 
rived of  my  bills  being  stopped,  and  my  person  subjected  to  I 
arrest.  I  was  not  sensible  to  the  extent  of  my  danger,  for; 
death  hung  over  me,  and  threatened  to  supersede  ailarrests^ 
but  of  a  lifeless  corpse  :  the  kind  heart  however  of  Mar- 
chetti  had  compassion  for  my  disconsolate  condition,  and  he 
found  means  to  supply  me  with  five  hundred  pounds,  as  I 
have  already  related.  It  pleased  God  to  preserve  my  life,^ 
and  this  seasonable  act  of  friendship  preserved  my  liberty.^ 
The  early  fruits  of  the  season,  and  the  balmy  temperature; 
of  the  air  in  that  delicious  climate,  aided  the  exertions  of  ,my;^ 
physician,  and  I  was  at  length  enabled  to  resume  my  jour- 
ney, taking  a  day's  rest  in  the  magnificent  town  of  Bour-. 
deaux,  from  whence  through  Tours,  Blois  and  Orleans,  ~^ 
proceeded  to  Paris,  which  however  I  entered  in  a  state  ast 
yet  but  doubtfully  convalescent,  emaciated  to  a  skeleton,- 
the  bones  of  my  back  and  elbows  still  bare  and  staring'^ 
through  my  skin. 

I  had  both  Florida  Blanca's  and  Count  Montmorin's  pass- 
ports, but  my  applications  for  post  horses  were  in  vain,  andl 
here  I  should  in  all  probability  have  ended  my  career,  as  Ij 
felt  myself  relapsing  apace,  had  I  not  at  length  obtained  the- 
long-withheld  permission  to  pass  onwards.  They  had' 
pounded  the  King  of  Spain's  horses  also  for  the  space  of  a- 
whole  month,  but  these  were  liberated  when  I  got  my  free- 
dom, and  I  embarked  them  at  Ostend,  from  vv^hence  I  took* 
my  passage  to  Margate,  and  arrived  at  my  house  in  Port-; 
land-Place,  destined  to  experience  treatment,  which  I  had- 
not  merited,  and  encounter  losses,  I  have  never  over- 
come. 

I  will  here  simply  relate  an  incident  without  attempting  " 
to  draw  any  conjectures  from  it,  which  is,  that  whilst  I  laid 
ill  at  Bay onne,  insensible,  and  as  it  was  supposed  at  the  point 
of  death,  the  very  monk,  who  had  been  so  troublesome  to 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  287 

me  at  Elvas,  found  his  way  into  my  chamber,  and  upon  the 
alarm  given  by  my  wife,  who  perfectly  recognized  his  per- 
son, was  only  driven  out  by  force.  Again  when  I  was  in 
Paris,  and  about  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  a  sallad  was  brought 
to  me  by  the  lacquey,  who  waited  on  me,  which  was  given 
to  him  for  me  by  a  red-haired  Dominican,  whose  person 
according  to  his  description  exactly  tallied  with  that  of  the 
aforesaid  monk  ;  I  dispatched  rfiy  servant  Camis  in  pursuit 
of  him,  but  he  had  escaped,  and  my  suspicion  of  the  sallad 
being  poisoned  was  confirmed  by  experiment  on  a  dog. 

I  shall  only  add  that  somewhere  in  Castile,  I  forget  the 
place,  but  it  was  between  Valladolid  and  Burgos,  as  I  was 
sitting  on  a  bench  at  the  door  of  a  house,  where  my  calasse- 
ros  were  giving  water  to  the  mules,  I  tendered  my  snuff-box 
to  a  grave  elderly  man,  who  seemed  of  the  better  sort  of 
Castilians,  and  who  appeared  to  have  thrown  himself  in  my 
way,  sitting  down  beside  me  as  one  who  invited  conversa- 
tion. The  stranger  looked  steadily  in  my  face,  and  after  a 
pause  put  his  fingers  into  my  box,  and,  taking  a  very  small 
portion  of  my  snuff  between  them,  said  to  me— -^^  I  am  not 
afraid.  Sir,  of  trusting  myself  to  you,  whom  I  know  to  be 
an  Englishman,  and  a  person  in  whose  honour  I  may  per- 
fectly repose.  But  there  is  death  concealed  in  many  a 
man's  snuff-box,  and  I  would  seriously  advise  you  on  no  ac- 
count to  take  a  single  pinch  from  the  box  of  any  stranger, 
who  may  offer  it  to  you  ;  and  if  you  have  done  that  already, 
I  sincerely  hope  no  such  consequences  as  I  allude  to  will  re- 
sult from  your  want  of  caution."  I  continued  in  conversa- 
tion with  this  stranger  for  some  time  ;  I  told  him  I  had  never 
before  been  apprised  of  the  practices  he  had  spoken  of,  and, 
being  perfectly  without  suspicion,  I  might,  or  might  not, 
have  exposed  myself  to  the  danger,  he  was  now  so  kind  as 
to  apprise  me  of,  but  I  observed  to  him  that  hovv  ever  pru- 
dent it  might  be  to  guard  myself  against  such  evil  practices 
in  other  countries,  I  should  not  expect  to  meet  them  in  Cas- 
tile, where  the  Spanish  point  of  honour  most  decidedly  pre- 
vailed. "  Ah,  Senor,"  he  replied,  "  they  may  not  all  be 
Spaniards,  whom  you  have  chanced  upon,  or  shall  hereafter 
-  chance  upon,  in  Castile."  When  I  asked  him  how  this  snuff 
operated  on  those  who  took  it,  his  answer  was,  as  I  expected 
— "  On  the  brain."  I  was  not  curious  to  enquire  who  this 
stranger  was,  as  I  paid  little  attention  to  his  information  at 
the  time,  though  I  confess  it  occurred  to  me,  when  after  a 


288  MEMOIRS  OF 

few  days  I  was  seized  with  such  agonies  in  my  head,  as  d| 
prived  me  of  my  senses  :  I  merely  give  this  anecdote,  as 
occurred  ;  I  draw  no  inferences  from  it. 

I  have  now  done  with  Spain,  and  if  the  detail,  which 
have  truly  given  of  my  proceedings,  whilst  I  was  there  in 
trust,  may  serve  to  justify  me  in  the  opinion  of  those,  who 
read  these  Memoirs,  I  will  not  tire  their  patience  with  a  dull 
recital  of  my  unprofitable  efforts  to  obtain  a  just  and  equita- 
ble indemnification  for  my  expenses  according  to  agreement. 
The  evidences  indeed  are  in  my  hands,  and  the  production 
of  them  would  be  highly  discreditable  to  the  memory  of 
some,  who  are  now  no  more  ;  but  redress  is  out  of  my 
reach  ;  the  time  for  that  is  long  since  gone  by,  and  has  car- 
ried me  on  so  far  towards  the  hour,  which  must  extinguish 
all  human  feelings,  that  there  can  be  little  left  for  me  to  do 
but  to  employ  the  remaining  pages  of  this  history  in  the  best 
manner  I  can  devise,  consistently  with  strict  veracity,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  those,  who  may  condescend  to  peruse  thenii 
and  to  whom  I  should  be  above  measure  sorry  to  appear  ii 
the  character  of  a  querulous,  discontented  and  resentful  ok 
man  ;  I  rather  hope  that  when  I  shall  have  laid  before  them 
a  detail  of  literary  labpurs,  such  as  few  have  executed  vvithit 
a  period  of  the  like  extent,  they  will  credit  me  for  my  in; 
dustry,  at  least,  and  allow  me  to  possess  some  claim  upoi 
the  favour  of  posterity  as  a  man,  who  in  honest  pride  of  con- 
science has  not  let  his  spirit  sink  under  oppression  and  neg- 
lect, nor  suffered  his  good  wili  to  mankind,  or  his  zeal  fo: 
his  country's  service  and  the  honour  of  his  God,  to  experi 
ence  intermission  or  abatement,  nor  made  old  age  a  plea  foi 
indolence,  or  an  apology  for  ill  humour. 

Nevertheless,  as  I  have  charged  my  employers  with  a  di 
rect  breach  of  faith,  it  seems  necessary  for  my  more  perfec 
vindication,  to  support  that  charge  by  an  official  document 
and  this  consideration  will  I  trust  be  my  sufficient  apoiog] 
for  inserting  the  followmg  statement  of  my  claim 

^*  To  the  Right  Honourable  Lord  JSi^orth^  life,  is'c,  i!fc. 

"  The  humble  Memorial  of  Richard  Cumberlant 
♦^  Sheweth, 

"  That  your  Memorialist  in  April  1780,  received  Hii 
Majesty's  most  secret  and  confideiitiul  orders  and  instruction! 
^  set  out  for  the  Court  of  Spain  in  company  with  the  Abb< 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  28$ 

Hussey,  one  of  His  Catholic  Majesty's  chaplains,  for  the 
purpose  of  negociating  a  separate  peace  with  that  court. 

"  That  to  render  the  object  of  this  commission  more  se- 
cret, your  Memoralist  was  directed  to  take  his  family  with 
him  to  Lisbon,  under  the  pretence  of  recovering  the  health 
of  one  of  his  daughters,  which  he  accoixlingly  did,  and  having 
sent  the  Abbe  Hussey  before  him  to  the  Court  of  Spain, 
agreeably  to  the  King's  instructions,  your  Memorialist  and 
his  family  soon  after  repaired  to  Aranjuez,  where  His  Cath- 
olic Majesty  then  kept  his  court. 

"  That  your  Memoralist  upon  setting  out  on  this  import- 
ant undertaking  received  by  the  hands  of  John  Robinson, 
Esquire,  one  of  the  secretaries  of  the  Treasury,  the  sum  of 
one  thousand  pounds  on  account,  with  directions  how  he 
should  draw,  through  the  channel  of  Portugal,  upon  his 
banker  in  England  for  such  further  sums  as  might  be  neces- 
sary, (particularly  for  a  large  discretionary  sum  to  be  employ- 
ed, as  occasion  might  require  in  secret  services)  and  your 
Memorialist  was  directed  to  accompany  his  drafts  by  a  se- 
parate letter  to  Mr.  Secretary  Robinson,  advising  him  what 
sum  or  sums  he  had  given  order  for,  that  the  same  might 
be  replaced  to  your  Memorialist's  credit  with  the  bank  of 
Messieurs  Crofts  and  Co.  in  Pall  Mall. 

"  That  your  Memorialist  in  the  execution  of  this  commis- 
sion, for  the  space  of  nearly  fourteen  months,  defrayed  the 
expences  of  the  Abbe  Hussey's  separate  journey  into  Spain, 
paid  all  charges  incurred  by  him  during  four  months  resi- 
dence there,  and  supplied  him  with  money  for  his  return  to 
England,  no  part  of  which  has  been  repaid  to  your  Memo- 
rialist. 

"  That  your  Memorialist  with  his  family  took  two  very 
long  and  expensive  journies,  (the  one  by  way  of  Lisbon  and 
the  other  through  France)  no  consideration  for  v/hich  has 
been  granted  to  him. 

*'  That  your  Memorialist,  during  his  residence  in  Spain, 
was  obliged  to  follow  the  removals  of  the  court  to  Aranjuez, 
San  Ildefonso,  the  Escurial  and  Madrid,  besides  frequent 
,  visits  to  the  Pardo ;  in  all  which  places,  except  the  Pardo,  he 
was  obliged  to  lodge  himself,  the  expence  of  which  can  only 
be  known  to  those,  who  in  the  service  of  their  court  have  in- 
curred it. 

"  That  every  article  of  necessary  expense,  being  inordi- 
nately high  in  Madrid,  your  Memorialist,  without  assuming 
2  A 


290  MEMOIRS  OF 

any  vain  appearance  of  a  minister,  and  with  as  much  domestic 
frugality  as  possible,  incurred  a  very  heavy  charge. 

''  That  your  Memorialist  having  no  courier  with  him,  no^ 
any  cypher,  was  obliged  to  employ  his  own  servant  in  that 
trusty  raid  the  servant  of  Abbe  Hussey,  at  his  own  proper  cost, 
no  part  of  which  has  been  repaid  to  him.  ] 

"  That  your  Memorialist  did  at  considerable  charge  obtain 
papers  and  documents,  containing  information  of  a  very  imr 
portant  nature,  w^liich  need  not  here  be  enumerated  ;  q\ 
which  charge  so  incurred  no  part  has  been  repaid.  \ 

"  That  upon  the  capture  of  the  East  and  West  India  ships 
by  the  enemy,  your  Memorialist  was  addressed  by  many  oj 
the  Britisii  prisoners,  some  of  wiiom  he  relieved  with  money, 
and  in  all  cases  obtained  the  prayer  of  their  memorials.  Your 
Memorialist  also,  through  the  favour  of  the  Bishop  of  Bur- 
gos, took  with  him  out  of  Spain  some  valuable  British  sea- 
man, and  restored  them  to  His  Majesty's  fleet ;  and  this  also 
he  did  at  his  own  cost. 

"  That  your  Memorialist  during  his  residence  in  Spain 
was  indispensably  obliged  to  cover  these  his  unavoidable  ex- 
pences  by  several  drafts  upon  his  banker  to  the  amount  oj 
4500/.  of  which  not  one  single  bill  has  been  replaced,  nor  one 
farthing  issued  to  his  support  during  fourteen  months  expen-jj 
.  sive^and  laborious  duty  in  the  King's  immediate  and  mos^ 
confidential  service  ;  the  consequence  of  which  unparalleled 
treatment  was,  that  your  Memorialist  was  stopped  and  arrest- 
ed at  Bayonne  by  order  from  his  remittancers  at  Madrid  ; 
in  this  agonizing  situation  your  Memorialist,  being  then  ici 
the  height  of  a  most  violent  fever,  surrounded  by  a  familjr 
of  helpless  women  in  an  enemy's  country,  and  abandon- 
ed by  his  employers,  on  whose  faith  he  had  relied,  founcj 
iumself  incapable  of  proceeding  on  his  journey,  and  desti- 
tute of  means  of  subsisting  where  he  was  ;  under  this  ac- 
cumulated distress  he  must  have  sunk  and  expired,  had  not 
the  generosity  of  an  officer  in  the  Spanish  service,  who  had 
accompanied  him  into  France,  supplied  his  necessities  with 
the  loan  cif  five  hundred  pounds,  and  passed  the  King  q1 
Great  Britain's  bankrupt  servant  into  his  own  country,  foi;; 
which  humane  action  this  friendly  officer,  (Marchetti  bj^ 
name)  was  arrested  at  Paris,  and  by  the  Count  D'Arand^ 
remanded  back  to  Madrid,  there  to  take  his  chance  for  what 
the  influence  of  France  may  find  occasion  to  devise  agains^ 
him. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  '291 

<<  Your  Memorialist,  since  his  return  to  England,  having, 
after  innunnerable  attempts,  gained  one  only  admittance  to 
your  lordship's  person  for  the  space  of  more  than  ten  months, 
and  not  one  answer  to  the  frequent  and  humble  suits  he  has 
made  to  you  by  letter,  presumes  now  for  the  last  time  to 
solicit  your  consideration  of  his  case,  and  as  he  is  persuaded 
it  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  hi  your  lordship's  heart  to  devote 
and  abandon  to  unmerited  ruhi  an   old  and  faithful  servant 
of  the  crown,  who  has  been  the  father  of  four  sons,  (one  of 
whom  has  lately  died,  and  three  are  now  carrying  arms  in 
the  service  of  their  King)  your  Memorialist  humbly  prays, 
that  you  will  give  order  for  him  to  be  relieved  in  such  man- 
ner as  to  your  lordship's  wisdom  shall  seem  meet — 
"  xVll  wdiich  is  humbly  submitted  by 
"  Your  lordship's  most  obedient 
"  And  m.ost  humble  servant, 
"  Richard  Cumberland." 

This  memorial,  which  is  perhapa  too  long  and  loaded,  I 
am  persuaded  Lord  North  never  took  the  pains  to  read,  for 
I  am  unwilling  to  suppose,  that,  if  he  had,  he  would  have 
treated  it  with  absolute  neglect.  He  v/as  upon  the  point  of 
quitting  office  when  I  gave  it  in,  and  being  my  last  effort  I 
was  desirous  of  summing  up  the  circumstances  of  my  case 
so,  that  if  he  had  thought  fit  to  grant  me  a  compensation, 
this  statement  might  have  been  a  justification  to  his  suc- 
cessor for  the  issue  ;  but  it  produced  no  compensation,  though 
I  should  presume  it  proved  enough  to  have  touched  the  feel- 
ings of  one  of  the  best  tempered  men  living,  if  he  would 
have  devoted  a  very  few  minutes  to  the  perusal  of  it. 

It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  call  to  mind  a  character  in  all 
essential  points  so  amiable  as  that  of  this  departed  minister, 
and  not  wish  to  find  some  palliation  for  his  oversights  ;  but 
if  I  were  now  to  say  that  I  acquit  him  of  injustice  to  me,  it 
would  be  affectation  and  hypocrisy  ;  at  the  same  time  I 
must  think,  that  Mr.  Secretary  Robinson,  who  was  the  ve- 
hicle of  the  promise,  was  more  immediately  bound  to  solicit 
and  obtain  the  fulfilment  of  it,  and  this  I  am  persuaded  was 
completely  in  his  powder  to  do  :  to  him  therefore  I  addressed 
such  remonstrances,  and  enforced  them  in  such  terms,  as 
no  manly  spirit  ought  to  have  put  up  with  -,  but  anger  and 
high  words  make  all  things  worse  ;  and  language,  which  a 
man  has  not  courage  to  resent,  he  never  will  have  candour 
to  forgive. 


^-J^  MEMOIRS  OF 

When  in  process  of  time  I  saw  and  knev/  Lord  Nort] 
his  retirement  from  all  public  affairs,  patient,  collected,  re 
signed  to  an  affiicting  visitation  of  the  severest  sort,  when 
all  but  his  illuminated  mind  was  dark  around  him,  I  contem- 
plated an  affecting  and  an  edifying  object,  that  claimed  my 
admiration  and  esteem  ;  a  man,  who  when  divested  of  that 
incidental  greatness,  which  high  office  for  a  time  can  give, 
seif-dignified  and  independent,  rose  to  real  greatness  of  his 
own  creating,  which  no  time  can  take  away  ;  whose  genius 
gave  a  grace  to  every  thing  he  said,  and  whose  benignity 
shed  a  lustre  upon  every  thing  he  did  ;  so  richly  was  hia 
memory  stored,  and  so  lively  was  his  imagination  in  apply- 
ing what  he  remembered,  that  after  the  great  source  of  in- 
formation was  shut  against  himself,  he  still  possessed  a 
boundless  fund  of  information  for  the  instruction  and  delight 
of  others.  Some  hours  (and  those  not  few)  of  his  society  he 
was  kind  in  bestowing  upon  me  :  I  eagerly  courted,  and  very 
highly  prized  them. 

I  experienced  no  abatement  in  the  friendship  of  Lord 
•George  Germain  ;  on  the  contrary  it  was  from  this  time^ 
chiefly  to  the  day  of  his  death,  that  I  lived  in  the  greatest  in* 
timacy  with  him.  Whilst  he  held  the  seals  I  continued  to« 
attend  upon  him  both  in  public  and  in  private,  rendering  him  *l 
all  the  voluntary  service  in  my  pov/er,  particularly  on  his  Le- 
vee-days, which  he  held  in  my  apartment  in  the  Plantation  of- 
fice,  though  he  had  ceased  to  preside  at  the  board  of  Trade,  ■ 
and  here  great  numbers  of  American  loyalists,  who  had  taken  1 
refuge  in  England,  were  in  the  habit  of  resorting  to  him  :  it 
was  an  arduous  and  delicate  busmess  to  conduct:  I  may  add 
it  was  also  a  business  of  some  personal  risque  and  danger, 
as  it  engaged  me  in  very  serious  explanations  upon  more  oc- 
casions than  one.  Upon  Lord  George's  putting  into  my 
hands  a  letter  he  had  received  from  a  certain  naval  officer, 
very  disrespectful  towards  him,  and  most  unjustifiably  so  to 
me,  for  having  brought  him  an  answer  to  an  application, 
which  ho  was  pleased  to  consider  as  private  and  confidential, 
I  felt  myself  obliged  to  take  the  letter  with  me  to  that  gen- 
tleman, and  require  him  to  write  and  sign  an  apology  of  my 
own  dictating ;  whatever  was  his  motive  for  doing  what  I 
peremptorily  required,  so  it  was,  that  to  my  very  great  surr 
prise  he  submitted  to  transcribe  and  sign  it,  and  when  I  ex- 
hibited it  to  Lord  George,  he  acknowledged  it  to  be  the  most 
complete  revocation  and  apology  he  had  ever  met  with. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  293 

There  vv^ere  other  situations  still  more  delicate,  in  which  I 
,  occasionally  became  involved,  but  which  I  forbear  to  men- 
tion ;  but  in  those  unpleasant  times  men*s  passions  were 
enflamed,  and  in  every  ease,  when  reasoning  would  not  s(M*ve 
to  allay  intemperance,  and  explanation  was  lost  upon  them, 
I  never  scrupled  to  abide  the  consequence. 

When  Lord  George  Germain  resigned  the  seals,  the  King' 
was  graciously  pleased  in  reward  for  his  services,  to  call  him 
to  the  House  of  Lords  by  the  title  of  Viscount  Sackville- 
The  well  known  circumstance,  that  occured  upon  the  event 
of  his  elevation  to  the  peerage,  made  a  deep  and  painful  im- 
pression on  his  feeling  mind,  and  if  his  seeming  patience 
under  the  infliction  of  it  should  appear  to  merit  in  a  moral 
sense  the  name  of  virtue,  I  must  candidly  acknovvledge  it 
as  a  virtue,  that  he  had  no  title  to  be  credited  for,  inasmuch 
as  it  was  entirely  owing  to  the  influence  of  some,  who  over- 
ruled his  propensities,  and  made  themselves  responsible  for 
his  honour,  that  he  did  not  betake  himself  to  the  same  abrupt 
unwarrantable  mode  of  dismissing  this  insult,  as  he  had  re- 
sorted to  in  a  former  instance.  No  man  can  speak  from  a 
more  intimate  knowledge  of  his  feelings  upon  this  occasion 
than  I  can,  and  if  I  was  not  on  the  side  of  those,  wiio  no  doubt 
spoke  well  and  wisely  when  they  spoke  for  peace,  it  is  one 
amongst  the  many  errors  and  ofl*ences,  which  I  have  yet  to 
repent  of. 

There  was  once  a  certain  Sir  Edward  Sackville,  whom 
the  world  has  heard  of,  who  probably  would  not  have  posses- 
sed himself  with  so  much  calmnness  and  forbearance  as  did 
a  late  noble  head  of  his  family,  whilst  the  question  I  allude 
to  was  in  agitation,  and  he  present  in  his  place.  It  was  by 
the  medium  of  this  noble  personage  that  the  Lord  Viscount 
Sackville  meditated  to  send  that  invitation  he  had  prepared, 
w^hen  the  interposition  and  well-considered  remonstrances 
of  some  of  his  nearest  friends,  (in  particular  of  Lord  Am- 
herst) put  hini  by  from  his  resolve,  and  dictated  a  conduct 
more  conformable  to  prudence,  but  much  less  suited  to  his 
inclination. 

The  law,  that  is  suflficient  for  the  redress  of  injuries,  does 
not  always  reach  to  the  redress  of  insults  ;  thus  it  comes  to 
pass,  that  many  men,  in  other  respects  wise  and  just  and 
temperate,  not  having  resolution  to  be  right  in  their  own 
consciences,  have  set  aside  both  reason  and  reIi?;ion,  and,  in 
compliance  with  the  evil  practice  of  the  world  about  thern^ 

2  A3 


^04^  MEMOIRS  OF 


main 


I 


performed   their  bloody  sacrifices,  and  immolated  hum 
victims  to  the  idol  of  false  honour.     Truth  obliges  me  tfl^ 
confess  that  the  friend,  of  whom  I  am  speaking,  though  pos- 
sessing  one   of  the  best  and  kindest  hearts,   that  ever  beat-,, 
witliin  a  human  breast,  was  with  difficulty  diverted  from  re  J 
sorting  a  second  time  to  that  desperate  remedy,  Avhich  mo-" 
dern  empirics  have  prescribed  for  wounds  of  a  peculiar  sort, 
oftentimes  imaginary  and  always  to  be  cured  by  patience. 

When  Lord  North's  administration  was  overturned,  and 
the  Board  of  Trade,  of  which  I  was  Secretary,  dismissed  un- 
der  tiie  regulations  of  what  is  commonly  called  Mr.  Bnrke'i 
Bill,  I  found  myself  set  adrift  upon  a  compensation,  which 
though  much  nearer  to  an  equivalent  than  what  I  had  re^ 
ceived  upon  my  Spanish  claims,  was  yet  in  value  scarce  a 
moiety  of  what  I  was  deprived  of.  By  the  operation  of  this 
reform,  after  I  had  sacrificed  the  patrimony  I  was  bom  to, 
a  very  considerable  reduction  was  made  even  of  the  rem- 
nant, that  was  left  to  me  :  I  lost  no  time  in  putting  my  fa- 
mily upon  such  an  establishment,  as  prudence  dictated,  and 
fixed  myself  at  Tunbridge  Wells. 

This  place  of  which  I  had  made  choice,  and  in  which  I 
have  continued  to  reside  for  more  than  twenty  years,  had 
much  to  recommend  it,  and  very  little,  that  in  any  degree 
made  against  it.  It  is  not  altogether  a  public  place,  yet  it 
is  at  no  period  of  the  year  a  solitude.  A  reading  man  may 
command  his  hours  of  study,  and  a  social  man  will  find 
full  gratification  for  his  philanthropy.  Its  vicinity  to 
the  capital  brings  quick  intelligence  of  all  that  passes 
there  ;  the  morning  papers  reach  us  before  the  hour  of  din- 
ner, and  the  evening  ones  before  breakfast  the  next  day  ; 
whilst  between  the  arrival  of  the  general  post  and  its  depar- 
ture there  is  an  interval  of  twelve  hours  ;  an  accommodation 
in  point  of  correspondence  that  even  London  cannot  boast  of. 
The  produce  of  the  neighbouring  farms  and  gardens,  and  the 
supplies  of  all  sorts  for  the  table  are  excellent  in  their  qua- 
lity ;  the  country  is  on  all  sides  beautiful,  and  the  climate 
pre-eminently  healthy,  and  in  a  most  peculiar  degree  resto- 
rative to  enfeebled  constitutions.  For  myself  I  can  say,  that 
through  the  whole  of  my  long  ixsidence  at  Tunbridge  Wells 
I  never  experienced  a  single  hour's  indisposition,  that  con- 
fined me  to  my  bed,  though  I  believe  I  may  say  with  truth 
that  till  then  I  had  encountered  as  many  fevers,  and  had  as 
miany  serious  struggles  for  my  life,  as  have  fallen  to  most 
meiVs  lots  in  the  like  terms  of  years* 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  255 

ci:  Some  people  can  sit  down  in  a  place,  and  live  so  entirely 
to  themselves  and  the  small  circle  of  their  acquaintance,  as 
to  have  little  or  no  concern  about  the  people,  amongst  wiiom 
they  reside.  The  contrary  to  this  has  ever  been  my  habity 
and  wheresoever  my  lot  in  life  has  cast  me,  somethini^  more 
than  curiosity  has  always  induced  me  to  mix  with  the  mass, 
and  interest  myself  in  the  concerns  of  my  neighbours  and 
fellow  subjects,  however  humble  in  degree ;  and  from  the 
contemplation  of  their  characters,  from  my  acquaintance 
with  their  hearts  and  my  assured  possession  of  their  affec- 
tions, I  can  truly  declare  that  I  have  derived,  and  still  enjoy 
some  of  the  most  gratifying  sensations,  that  reflection  can 
bestow.  The  Men  of  Kent,  properly  so  called,  are  a  pecu- 
liar race,  well  worthy  of  the  attention  and  study  of  the  phi- 
lanthropist. There  is  not  only  a  distinguishing  cast  of  hu- 
mour, but  a  dignity  of  mind  and  principle  about  them,  which 
is  the  very  clue,  that  will  lead  you  into  their  hearts,  if  right- 
ly understood  ;  but,  if  mistaken  or  misused,  you  will  find 
them  quick  enough  to  conceive,  and  more  than  forward 
enough  to  express,  their  proud  contempt  and  resolute  defi- 
ance of  you.  I  have  said  in  my  first  volume  of  jlrundely 
page  220,  that  they  are — "  a  race  distinguishable  above  all 
their  fellow  subjects  for  the  beauty  of  their  persons,  the  dig- 
nity of  their  sentiments,  the  courage  of  their  hearts,  and  the 
elegance  of  their  manners — "  Many  years  have  passed 
since  I  gave  this  testimony,  and  the  full  experience  I  have 
now  had  of  the  men  of  Kent,  ever  my  kind  friends,  and  now 
become  my  comrades  and  fellow  soldiers,  confirms  every 
word  that  I  have  said,  or  can  say,  expressive  of  their  worthi- 
ness, or  my  esteem. 

The  house,  which  I  rented  of  Mr.  John  Fry,  at  that  time 
master  of  the  Sussex  Tavern,  was  partly  new  and  partly  at- 
tached to  an  old  foundation  ;  it  was  sufficient  for  my  family, 
and  when  I  had  fitted  it  up  with  part  of  my  furniture,  and 
all  my  pictures  from  Portland-Place,  it  had  more  the  air  of 
comfort  and  less  the  appearance  of  a  lodging  house  than 
most  in  the  place  :  it  was  by  no  means  the  least  of  its  re- 
commendations, that  it  was  well  appointed  with  offices  and 
accommodations  for  those  old  and  faithful  domestics,  who 
continued  in  my  service.  There  was  a  square  patch  of 
ground  in  front,  of  about  half  an  acre,  fejiced  and  planted 
round  with  trees,  Wiiich  I  converted  into  a  flower  garden 
and  encircled  with  a  sand  walk  :  it  had  now  become  the  only 


/ 


296  MEMOIRS  OF 

lot  of  English  terra  firma,  over  which  I  had  a  legal  right  J 
and  I  treated  it  with  a  lover-like  attention  ;  it  soon  produceq 
me  excellent  wall-fruit  of  my  own  rearing,  and  at  last 
found  a  little  friendly  spot,  the  only  one  as  yet  discovered^ 
in  which  my  laurels  flourished.  My  true  and  trusty  servanq 
Thomas  Camis,  (more  than  ever  attached,  because  more 
than  ever  necessary  to  me)  had  a  passion  for  a  flower  gar-5 
den,  and  he  quickly  made  it  a  bed  of  sweets,  and  a  display" ' 
of  beauty.  It  was  now,  unhappily  for  me,  too  evident,  that 
the  once-excellent  constitution  of  my  beloved  wife,  my  best 
friend  and  under  Providence  the  preserver  of  my  life,  was 
sinking  under  the  efl'ects,  which  her  late  sufferings  and  ex- 
ertions in  attending  upon  me,  had  entailed  upon  her :  I  had 
tried*  the  sea-coast,  and  other  places  before  I  settled  here, 
but  in  this  climate  only  could  she  breathe  with  freedom  and 
experience  repose  :  the  boundary  of  our  little  garden  was 
in  general  the  boundary  of  her  walk,  and  beyond  it  her 
strength  but  rarely  suffered  her  to  expatiate  :  so  long  as  she 
could  have  recourse  to  her  horse,  she  made  a  struggle  for 
fresh  air  and  exercise,  but  when  she  had  the  misfortune  to 
lose  her  favorite  Spaniard,  so  invaluable  and  so  wonderfully 
attached  to  her,  she  despaired  of  replacing  him,  and  I  can  well 
believe  there  was  not  in  all  England  an  animal  that  could.  He 
had  belonged  to  the  King  of  Spain,  and  come,  by  what  means  I 
have  forgot,  into  the  possession  of  Count  Joseph  Kaunitz,who 
gave  him  to  Mrs.  Cumberltind :  he  was  a  most  perfect  war- 
horse,  though  upon  the  scale  of  a  galloway, and  whilst  his  eyes 
menaced  every  thing  that  was  fiery  and  rebellious,  nothing 
living  was  more  sweet  and  gentle  in  his  nature  ;  he  could 
not  speak,  for  he  had  not  the  organs  of  speech,  but  he  had 
dog-like  sagacity,  and  understood  the  words,  that  were  ad- 
dressed to  him,  and  the  caresses,  that  were  bestowed  upon 
him.  Being  entire  and  of  course  prohibited  from  passing^ 
out  of  Spain,  lam  persuaded  some  villanous  measures  were 
practised  on  the  Frontiers  towards  him  in  his  journey,  for 
he  died  in  agonies  under  so  inveterate  a  strangury,  that  tho' 
I  supplied  all  the  remedies,  that  an  excellent  surgeon  could 
suggest  for  his  relief,  nothing  could  save  him,  and  he  expir- 
ed, whilst  resting  his  head  on  my  shoulder,  his  eyes  being 
fixed  upon  me  with  that  intelligent  and  piteous  expression, 
which  seemed  to  say — Can  you  do  nothing  to  assuage  my 
pain  ?  I  thank  God  I  never  angrily  and  unjustifiably  chastis- 
ed but  one  horse  to  my  remembrance,  and  that  creature,  (a 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  297 

barb  given  to  me  by  Lord  Halifax)  never  whilst  it  had  life 
forgave  me,  or  would  be  reconciled  to  let  me  ride  it  in  any 
peace,  though  it  carried  my  wife  with  all  imaginable  gentle- 
ness. I  disdain  to  make  any  apology  for  this  prattle,  nor 
am  willing  to  suppose  it  can  be  uninteresting  to  a  benevolent 
reader ;  for  those  who  are  not  such,  I  have  no  concern.  The 
man,  who  is  cruel  to  his  beast  is  odious,  and  I  am  inclined  to 
think  there  may  be  cruelty  expressed  even  in  the  treatment 
ofthhigs  inanimate;  in  short  I  believe  that  I  am  destined 
to  die,  as  I  have  lived,  with  all  that  family  weakness  about 
me,  which  will  hardly  suffer  me  to  chastise  offence,  or  tell 
a  fellow-creature  he  is  a  rascal,  for  fear  the  intimation  should 
give  him  pain.  I  have  been  wrongfully  and  hardly  dealt 
with  ;  I  have  had  my  feelings  wounded  without  mercy  ;  I 
declare  to  God  I  never  knowingly  wronged  a  fellow  crea- 
ture, or  designedly  offended  ;  if,  wliilst  I  am  giving  my  own 
history,  I  am  to  give  my  own  character,  this  in  few  words  is 
the  truth  ;  I  am  too  old,  too  conscientious,  too  well  persua- 
ded and  too  fearful  of  a  judgment  to  come,  to  dare  to  go  to 
death  with  a  lie  in  my  mouth :  let  the  censors  of  my  ac- 
tions, and  the  scrutinizers  of  my  thoughts,  confute  me,  if 
they  can. 

The  children,  who  were  inmate  with  me,  when  I  settled 
atTunbridge  Wells,  were  my  second  daughter  Sophia,  and 
the  infant  Marianne,  born -to  me  in  Spain  ;  my  three  surviving 
sons,  Richard,  Charles  and  William,  were  serving  in  the  1st 
regiment  of  guards,  the  10th  foot  and  the  royal  navy  :  my 
eldest  daughter  Elizabeth  had  married  the  Lord  Edward  Ben- 
tick,  brother  to  the  Duke  of  Portland,  apd  at  that  time  mem- 
ber for  the  county  of  Nottingham  ;  of  him  were  I  to  attempt 
at  saying  what  my  experience  of  his  character,  and  my  affec- 
tion for  his  person  would  suggest,  I  should  only  punish  his 
sensibility,  and  fall  far  short  of  doing  justice  to  my  own  :  he 
is  too  well  esteemed  and  beloved  to  need  my  praise,  and  how 
truly  and  entirely  I  love  him  is  I  trust  too  well  known  to  re- 
quire professions. 

I  was  now  within  an  hour's  ride  of  Stonelands,  where  Lord 
Sackville  resided  for  part  of  the  year,  and  as  this  was  amongst 
the  motives,  that  led  me  to  locate  myself  at  Tunbridge 
Wells,  so  it  was  always  one  of  my  chief  gratifications  to  avail 
myself  of  my  vicinity  to  so  true  and  dear  a  friend. 

Being  now  dismissed  from  office  I  was  at  leisure  to  devote 
myself  to  that  passion,  which  from  my  earliest  youth  had 


298  MEMOIRS  OF 

never  wholly  left  me,  and  I  resorted  to  my  books  and  mfW 
pen,  as  to  friends,  who  had  animated  me  in  the  morning  oP|' 
my  day,  and  were  now  to  occupy  and  uphold  me  in  the  even- 
ing of  it.     I  had  happily  a  collection  of  books,  excellent  in 
their  kind,  and  perfectly  adapted  to  my  various  and  discur- 
sive course  of  reading.     In  almost  every  margin  I  recogni- 
zed the  hand-writing  of  my  grandfather  Bentiey,  and  where*' 
ever  I  traced  his  remains,  they  were  sure  guides  to  direct^ 
and  gratify  me  in  my  fondness  for  philological  researches. 
My  mind  had  been  harassed  in  a  variety  of  ways,  but  thejj 
spirit,  that  from  resources  within  itself  can  find  a  never-fail^ 
ing  fund  of  occupation,  will  not  easily  be  broken  by  events* 
that  do  not  touch  the  conscience.     That  portion  of  mental 
energy,  which  nature  had  endowed  me  with,  was  not  impair- 
ed ;  on  the  contrary  I  took  a  larger  and  more  various  range 
of  study  than  I  had  ever  done  before,   and  collaterally  with' 
other  compositions  began  to  collect  materials  for  those  es-; 
says,  which  I  afterwards  completed  and  made  public  under 
the  title  of  T/ie  Obser-uer,     I  sought  no  other  dissipation  thart^ 
the  indulgence  of  my  literary  faculties  could  afford  me,  and' 
in  the  mean  time  I  kept  silence  from  complaint,  sensible' 
how  ill  such  topics  recommended  a  man  to  society  in  gene- 
ral, and  how  very  nearly  most  men's  show  of  pity  is  connect- 
ed with  contempt. 

I  had  already  published  in  two  volumes  my  Anecdotes  of 
eminent  Painters  in  Spain.  I  am  flattered  to  believe  it  was 
an  interesting  and  curious  work  to  readers  of  a  certain  sort, 
for  there  had  been  no  such  regular  history  of  the  Spanish^ 
school  in  our  language,  and  when  I  added  to  it  the  authentic  • 
catalogue  of  the  paintings  in  the  royal  palace  at  Madrid,  I 
gave  the  world  what  it  had  not  seen  before,  as  that  catalogue 
w^as  the  first  that  had  been  made,  and  was  by  permission  of 
the  King  of  Spain  undertaken  at  my  request,  and  transmitted 
to  me  after  my  return  to  England. 

When  these  Anecdotes  had  been  for  some  short  time  be- 
fore the  public,  I  was  surprised  to  find  myself  arraigned  for 
having  introduced  a  passage  in  my  second  volume,  grossly 
injurious  to  the  reputation  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  add  that  I  had  reason  to  believe,  that  the  misconcep- 
tion of  my  motives  for  the  insertion  of  that  passage  was 
adopted  by  Sir  Joshua  himself.  The  charge  consists  in  my 
having  quoted  a  passage  from  a  publication  of  Azara's,  which 
but  for  my  noticing  it,  might  have  never  met  the  observa- 


i  RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  299 

^tion  of  the  English  reader.  I  own  I  thought  this  charge  too 
i  ridiculous  to  merit  any  answer,  for  I  had  not  gone  out  of  my 
i  way  to  seek  Azara's  publication  ;  it  was  in  the  shops  at  Lon- 
doil,  and  there  I  chanced  upon  it  and  purchased  it.  Azara 
was  the  friend  of  Mengs,  and  treats  professedly  of  his  cha- 
racter and  compositions.  A  work  of  tiiis  sort  was  in  no  de- 
gree likely  to  preserve  its  incognito,  neither  had  it  so  done 
before  it  came  into  my  hands. 

Tiie  following  extract  from  my  2d  vol.  p.  206,  comprises 
every  word,  that  has  any  reference  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
and  I  am  persuaded  it  cannot  fail  to  acquit  me  in  the  judg- 
ment of  every  one,  who  reads  it,  most  clearly  and  completely 
— tiiis  it  is — "  Whether  Mengs  really  thought  with  contempt 
of  art,  which  was  inferior  to  his  own,  I  will  not  pretend  to 
decide  ;  but  that  he  was  apt  to  speak  contemptuously  of 
artists  sufierior  to  himself,  I  am  inclined  to  believe.  Azara 
tells  us  that  he  pronounced  of  the  academical  lectures  of  our 
Heyiiolds^  that  they  were  calculated  to  mislead  young  stu- 
dents into  error,  teaching  nothing  but  those  superficial 
principles,  which  he  plainly  avers  are  all  that  the  author 
himself  knows  of  the  art  he  professes — Del  libro  moderno 
del  Sr  Reynold^  Ligles^  decia  que  es  una  obra^  que  fiuede 
condj^icir  los  Juvenes  al  error  ;  jiosque  se  queda  en  los  firinci' 
fiios  sujierjiciales^  que  conoce  solamente  a  quel  cw/or— -Azara 
immediately  proceeds  to  say  that  Mengs  was  of  a  tempera- 
ment colerico  y  adusto^  and  that  his  bitter  and  satirical  turn 
created  him  injinitos  agraviados  y  quejosos._  When  his  his- 
torian and  friend  says  this,  there  is  no  occasion  for  me  to 
repeat  the  remark.  If  the  genius  of  Mengs  had  been  capa- 
ble of  producing  a  composition  equal  to  that  of  the  tragic 
and  pathetic  Ugolino,  I  am  persuaded  such  a  sentence  as 
the  above  would  never  have  passed  his  lips  ;  but  flattery 
made  him  vain,  and  sickness  rendered  him  peevish  ;  he 
found  himself  at  Madrid  in  a  country  without  riv^ds,  and, 
because  the^  arts  had  travelled  out  of  his  sight,  he  was 
disposed  to  think  they  existed  no  where  but  on  his  own 
pallet." 

If  this  be  n~^t  sufficient  for  my  justification  I  could  wish 
any  of  my  readers,  who  has  my  book  within  his  reach, 
would  refer  himself  to  the  page  in  question,  and  read  on- 
wards till  I  dismiss  the  subject  of  Mengs  with  the  follow- 
ing strictures  on  his  talents,  dictated  no  doubt  in  that  spi- 
rit of  resentment,  wliich  Azara's  anecdote  above  recorded 


to 


300  MEMOIRS  OF 

had  most  evidently  inspired  ;  for  what  more  highly  tinctMP^ 
ed  with  asperity  could  be  said  of  Mengs,  than — "  that  1^1  *^' 
was  an  artist,  who  had  seen  much,  and  invented  little  ;  that  |  ^* 
he  dispenses  neither  life  nor  death  to  his  figures,   excites 
no  terror,  rouses  no  passions  and  risques  no  flights ;  that 
by  studying  to  avoid  particular  defects,  he  incurs  general 
ones,  and  paints  with  tameness  and  servility  ;  that  the  con-  [ 
tracted  scale  and  idea  of  a  painter  of  miniatures,  (as  which  i 
he  was  brought  up)  is  to  be  traced  in  all  or  most  of  his  compo-  | 
sitions,  in  which  a  finished  delicacy  of  pencil  exhibits  the  hand 
of  the  artist,  but  gives  no  emanations  of  the  sow/ of  the  mas- 
ter ?  If  it  is  beauty,  it  does  not  warm  ;  if  it  is  sorrow,  it  ex- 
cites no  pity  :  that  when  the  angel  announces  the  salutation  t9 
Mary^  it  is  a  messenger,  that  has  neither  used  dispatch  in 
his  errand,  nor  grace  in  his  delivery  of  it ;  that  although  i?w- 
bens  was  by  one  of  his  oracular  sayings  condemned  to  the 
ignonimous  dullness  of  a  Dutch  translator,  Mengs  was  as 
capable  of  painting  Ruben's  Adoration^  as  he  was  of  creating 
the  star  in  the  east,  that  ushered  the  Magi.     But  these  are 
questions  above  my  capacity  ;  I  resign  Mengs  to  abler  cri- 
tics and  Reynolds  to  better  defenders  ;  well  contented  that 
posterity  should  admire  them  both,  and  well  assured  that  the 
fame  of  our  countryman  is  established  beyond  the  reach  of 
envy  or  detraction." 

If  I  had  been  aiming  to  employ  the  authority  of  Mengs 
against  the  reputation  of  Reynolds,  I  think  it  would  not  have 
been  my  part  to  take  such  pains  for  lessening  the  impor- 
tance of  it,  and  disappointing  my  own  purpose.     I  cannotl 
doubt  but  I  am  fairly  open  to  reproach  for  these  invectives, 
against  the  fame  of  Mengs,  but  if  there  is  any  edge  in  th^i 
weapon  I  have  wielded,  I  may  say  to  his  shade — > 

—Pallas  te  hoc  vulnercy  Pallas 

Immolat'— 

In  the  second  volume,  p.  8,  where  I  am  speaking  of  th< 
great  luminary  of  the  Spanish  school  Velazquez,  I  observ 
that,  amongst  other  studies  more  immediately  attached  toj 
his  art,  he  perfected  himself  in  the  propositions  of  Euclid- 
*'  Elements,  that  prepare  the  mind  in  every  art  and  ever 
science,  to  which  the  human  faculties  can  be  applied  ;  whic 
give  a  rule  and  measure  for  every  thing  in  life,  dignify  things^ 
abstruse,  invigorate  the  reason,  restrain  the  licentiousness  • 


RICHARD  CUINIBERLAND.  So'l 

of  fancy,  open  all  the  avenues  of  truth,  and  give  a  charm 
even  to  controversy  and  dispute — ."  I  insert  this  extract 
because  it  is  in  proof  to  shew  that  my  opinion  with  respect 
to  the  importance  of  an  academical  education  was  at  this  pe- 
riod of  life  altogether  as  strong  in  favour  of  the  mathematical 
studies,  as  I  have  expressed  it  to  be  in  the  former  part  of 
these  Memoirs. 

If  it  were  not  a  ridiculous  thing  for  an  author  to  give  his 
own  works  a  good  word,  I  should  be  tempted  to  risque  it  in 
the  instance  of  these  two  volumes  of  anecdotes ;  forasmuch 
as  I  bear  them  in  grateful  remembrance,  as  having  cheered 
some  of  my  heaviest  hours,  and  as  being  the  first  productions 
sent  by  me  into  the  world  after  my  return  out  of  Spain  ; 
from  which  period  to  the  present  hour,  when  I  review  the 
mass  of  those  many  and  various  works,  which  my  literary 
labours  have  struck  out,  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  if  I  have 
merited  any  chance  of  living  in  the  remembrance  of  pos- 
terity, it  is  in  these  my  latter  years  I  am  to  look  for  it. 

Before  I  settled  myself  at  Tunbridge  Wells  I  had  vrrit- 
ten  my  comedy  of  The  Walloons^  brought  out  at  Covent 
Garden  theatre,  where  my  friend  Henderson  exhibited  a 
most  inimitable  specimen  of  his  powers  in  the  character  of 
Father  Sullivan.  If  some  people  were  ingenious  enough 
to  discover  any  likeness  of  the  Abbe  Hussey  in  that  sketch, 
they  imputed  to  me  a  design,  that  was  never  in  my  thoughts. 
It  was  Henderson,  with  whom  I  was  living  in  the  greatest  in- 
timacy, who  put  me  upon  the  project  (if  writing  a  character 
for  him  in  the  cast  of  Congreve's  Double  Dealer. — "  Make 
me  a  fine  bold-faced  villain,"  he  sdd,  "  the  direst  and  the 
deepest  in  nature  I  care  not,  so  you  do  but  give  me  m.otives, 
,  strong  enough  to  bear  me  out,  and  such  a  prominence  of  na- 
tural character,  as  shall  secure  me  from  the  contempt  of  my 
audience  ;  whatever  other  passions  I  can  inspire  them  with 
will  never  sink  me  in  their  esteem."  Upon  the  same  prin- 
ciple I  conceived  the  character  of  Lord  Davenant  for  him 
in  The  Mysterious  Husband^  and  in  that  he  v/as  not  less  con- 
spicuously excellent. 

He  was  an  actor  of  uncommon  powers,  and  a  man  of  the 
brightest  intellect,  formed  to  be  the  delight  of  society,  and 
few  indeed  are  those  men  of  distinguished  talents,  who  have 
been  more  prematurely  lost  to  the  world,  or  more  lastingly 
regretted.  What  he  was  on  the  stage,  those  who  recollect 
his  Falstaff,  Shy  lock,  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  and  many  other 
2   B 


302  MEMOIRS  OF 

parts  of  the  strong  casts,  can  fully  testify  ;  what  he  was  ; 
his  own  fire-side  and  in  his  social  hours,  all,  who  were  witH| 
in  tne  circle  of  his  intimates,  will  not  easily  forget.  He  ha 
an  unceasing  flow  of  spirits,  and  a  boundless  fund  of  ht 
mour,  irristibly  amusing :  he  also  had  wit,  properly  so  dis- 
tinguished, and  from  the  specimens,  which  I  have  seen  of 
his  sallies  in  verse,  levelled  at  a  certain  editor  of  a  public 
print,  who  had  annoyed  him  with  his  paragraphs,  I  am  satis^ 
fied  he  had  talents  at  his  command  to  have  established  a  vc3 
,ry  high  reputation  as  a  poet.  I  was  with  him  one  morning3 
when  he  was  indisposed,  and  when  his  physician  Sir  Johil 
Eliot  paid  him  a  visit.  The  doctor,  as  is  well  knowii,  was  2 
merry  little  being,  who  talked  pretty  much  at  random,  anc 
oftentimes  with  no  great  reverence  for  the  subjects,  whicl: 
he  talked  upon  ;  upon  the  present  occasion  however  he 
came  professionally  to  inquire  how  his  medicines  had  suc- 
ceeded, and  in  his  northern  accent  demanded  of  his  patient — ^ 
''  Had  he  taken  the  fialls  that  he  sent  him." — "  He  had."— 
'''Well!  how  did  they  agree?  What  had  they  done  ?" — . 
"  Wonders,"  replied  Henderson  ;  ''  I  survived  them" — m 
"  Tx>  be  sure  you  did,  said  the  doctor,  and  you  must  takQ 
more'  of  'em,  and  live  for  ever  :  I  make  all  my  patients  im- 
mortal."— .''  That  is  exactly  what  I  am  afi^aid  of,  doctor,  re-s 
joined  the  patient.  I  m^et  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance  yes- 
terday ;  you  know  her  very  well :  she  v/as  in  bitter  afflic-^ 
tion,  crying  and  bewailing  herself  in  a  most  piteous  fashion  : 
I  asked  what  had  happened  ;  a  melancholy  event ;  her  dear- 
est friend  was  at  death's  door" — "  What  is  her  disease," 
cried  the  doctor  ?— "  That  is  the  very  question  I  ask- 
ed, replied  Henderson  ;  but  she  v/as  in  no  danger  from  her 
disease  ;  'twas  very  slight ;  a  mere  excuse  for  calling  in  a 
physician"—"  Why  what  the  devil  are  you  talking  about, 
rejoined  the  doctor,  if  she  had  called  in  a  physician,  and 
there  was  no  danger  in  the  disease,  how  could  she  be  said 
to  be  at  death's  door  ?" — Because,  said  Henderson,  she  had 
called  in  you  :  every  body  calls  you  in  ;  you  dispatch  a  world 
of  business,  and  if  you  come  but  once  to  each,  your  practice 
must  have  made  you  very  rich" — Nay,  nay,  quoth  Sir  John, 
I  am  not  rich  in  this  world;  I  lay  up  my  treasure  in  hea- 
ven"— "  Then  you  may  take  leave  of  it  for  ever,  rejoined  the 
other,  for  you  have  laid  it  up  where  you  will  never  find  it." 
Henderson's  memory  was  so  prodigious,  that  I  dare  not 
risque  the  instance  which  I  could^  give  of  it,  not  thinking 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  303 

^myself  entitled  to  demand  more  credit  than  I  sliould  proba- 
bly be  disposed  to  give.  In  his  private  chanutcr  niuny 
good  and  amiable  qualities  might  be  traced,  particularly  in 
his  conduct  towards  an  aged  mother,  to  wlioni  he  bore  a 
truly  filial  attachment  ;  and  in  laying  up  a  provision  for  his 
wife  and  daughter  he  was  at  least  sufficiently  careful  and 
ceconomical.  He  was  concerned  with  the  elder  Sheridan  in 
a  course  of  public  readings :  there  could  not  be  a  higher 
treat  than  to  hear  his  recitations  from  parts  and  passag-es  in 
Tristram  Shandy  :  let  him  broil  his  dish  of  sprats,  seasoned 
with  the  sauce  of  his  pleasantry,  and  succeeded  by  a  dessert 
of  Trim  and  my  Uncle  Toby,  it  was  an  entertainment  wor- 
thy to  be  enrolled  amongst  the  nodes  ccvnascjue  JDiviim.  I 
once  heard  him  read  purt  of  a  tragedy,  and  but  once  ;  it  was 
in  his  ow^i  parlour,  and  he  ranted  most  outrageously  :  he 
was  conscious  how  ill  he  did  it,  and  laid  it  aside  before  he 
had  finished  it.  It  was  clear  he  had  not  studied  that  most  ex- 
cellent property  of  pitching  his  voice  to  the  size  of  the  room 
he  was  in  ;  an  art,  which  so  few  readers  have,  but  which 
Lord  Mansfield  was  allowed  to  possess  in  perfection.  He 
was  an  admirable  mimic,  and  in  his  sallies  of  this  sort  he 
invented  speeches  and  dialogues,  so  perfectly  appropriate 
to  the  characters  he  was  displaying,  that  I  don't  doubt  but 
many  good  sayings  have  been  given  to  the  persons  he  made 
free  with,  which  being  fastened  on  them  by  him  in  a  frolic, 
have  stuck  to  them  ever  since,  and  perhaps  gone  down  to 
posterity  amongst  their  memorabilia.  If  there  was  any  bo- 
dy now  qualified  to  draw  a  parallel  between  the  chareicters 
of  Foote  and  Henderson,  I  don't  pretend  to  say  how  the  men 
of  wit  and  humour  might  divide  the  laurel  between  them, 
but  in  this  all  men  would  agree  that  poor  Foote  attached 
to  himself  very  few  true  friends,  and  Henderson  very  many, 
and  those  highly  respectable,  men  virtuous  in  their  lives, 
and  enlightened  in  their  understandings.  Foote,  vain,  ex- 
travagant, embarrassed,  led  a  wild  and  thoughtless  course 
of  life,  yet  when  death  approached  him,  he  shrunk  back  into 
himself,  saw  and  confessed  his  errors,  and  I  have  reason  to 
believe  was  truly  penitent.  Henderson's  conduct  through 
life  was  uniformly  decorous,  and  in  the  concluding  stage  of 
it  exemplarily  devout. 

I  have  said  he  played  the  part  of  Lord  Davenant  in  my 
drama  of  The  Mysterious  Husband :  I  believe  it  wa.s  upon 
the  last  night  of  its  representation,  the  King  and  Queen  being 


S04  MEMOIRS  OF 

present,  Avhen  Henderson's  exertions  in  the  concluding 
scene,  where  he  dies  upon  the  stage,  occasioned  certain  ag. 
itations,  which  have  thenceforward  rendered  spectacles  of 
that  sort  very  properly  inelegible.  The  late  Mrs.  Pope  was 
Tery  successful  and  impressive  in  the  character  of  Lady  Dav* 
enant,  which  I  am  inclined  to  consider  as  the  best  female  part 
I  have  ever  tendered  to  the  stage,  but  as  the  play  is  printed 
and  before  the  public,  the  public  judgment  will  decide  upon 
it. 

Though  I  continued  to  amuse  my  fancy  with  dramatic 
composition,  my  chief  attention  w^as  bestov/ed  upon  that 
body  of  original  essays,  which  compose  the  volumes  of 
The  Observer,  I  first  printed  two  octavos  experim,entally 
at  our  press  in  Tunbridge  Wells  ;  the  execution  was  so  in* 
correct,  that  I  stopped  the  impression  as  soon  as  I  had  enga- 
ged my  friend  Mr.  Charles  Dilly  to  undertake  the  reprint- 
ing of  it.  He  gave  it  a  form  and  shape  fit  to  meet  the  pub- 
lic eye,  and  the  sale  w^as  encouraging.  I  addejl  to  the  col- 
lection very  largely,  and  it  appeared  in  a  new  addition  of 
live  volumes  :  when  these  were  out  of  print,  I  made  a  fresh 
arrangement  of  the  essays,  and  incorporating  my  entire 
translation  of  The  Clouds^  we  edited  the  work  thus  modelled 
in  sixvolum.es,  and  these  being  now  attached  to  the  great 
edition  of  the  British  Essayists,  I  consider  the  Observer 
as  fairly  enrolled  amongst  the  standard  classics  of  our  na- 
tive language.  This  work  therefore  has  obtained  for  itself 
an  inheritance  ;  it  is  fairly  off  my  hands,  and  what  I  have 
to  say  about  it  will  be  confined  to  a  few  simple  facts  ;  1  had 
no  acknowledgments  to  make  in  my  concluding  essay, 
for  I  had  received  no  aid  or  assistance  from  any  man  liv- 
ing. Every  page  and  paragraph,  except  what  is  avowed 
quotation,  I  am  singly  responsible  for.  My  much  esteemed 
IViend  Richard  Sharp,  Esquire,  now  of  Mark  Lane,  had  the 
kindness,  during  my  absence  from  to v/n  to  correct  the  sheets 
as  they  came  from  the  press,  had  that  judicious  friend  cor- 
rected them  before  they  went  to  the  press,  they  would  have 
been  profited  by  the  reform  of  many  more  than  typographi- 
t  al  errors  ;  but  the  approbation  he  was  pleased  to  bestow 
upon  that  portion  of  the  work  which  passed  under  his  in- 
spection, was  a  very  sensible  support  to  me  in  the  prosecu- 
tion of  it ;  for  though  I  was  aware  what  allowances  I  had  to 
make  for  his  candid  disposition  to  commend,  I  had  too  much 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  305 

confidence  in  his  sincerity  to  suppose  bim  capable  of  compli- 
menting me  aijainsthis  judgment  or  his  conscience. 

I  have  been  suspected  of  taking  stories  out  of  Spanish  au- 
thors, and  weaving  them  into  some  of  these  essays  as  my 
own,  without  acknowledging  the  plagiarism.  One  of  my 
reviewers  instances  the  story  o^  Mcolas  Pedrosa^  and  round- 
ly asserts  that  from  internal  evidence  it  must  be  of  Spanish 
construction,  and  from  these  assumed  premises  leaves  me 
to  abide  the  odium  of  the  inference.  To  this  I  answer  with 
the  most  solemn  appeal  to  truth  and  honour,  that  I  am  in- 
debted to  no  author  whatever,  Spanish  or  other,  for  a  single 
hint,  idea  or  suggestion  of  an  incident  in  the  story  of  Ped- 
rosa,*orin  that  of  the  Misanthrope,  nor  in  any  other  which 
the  work  contains.  In  the  narrative  of  the  Portuguese,  who 
was  brought  before  the  Inquisition,  what  I  say  of  it  as  being 
matter  of  tradition,  which  I  collected  on  the  spot,  is  a  mere 
fiction  to  give  an  air  of  credibility  and  horror  to  the  talc  : 
the  wiiole,  without  exception  of  a  syllable,  is  absolute  and 
entire  invention. 

I  take  credit  to  myself  for  the  character  of  Abraham  Abra- 
hams ;  I  wrote  It  upon  principle,  thinking  it  high  time  that 
something  should  be  done  for  a  persecuted  race.    I  second- 
ed my  appeal  to  the  charity  of  mankind  by  the  character 
of  Sheva,  which  I  copied  from  this   of  Abrahams.     The 
public  prints  gave  the  Jews  credit  for  their  sensibility  in  ac- 
knowledging my  well-intended  services  ;  my  friends  gave 
mi e  joy  of  honorary  presents,  and  some  even  accused  me  of 
ingratitude  for  not  making  public  my  thanks  for  their  muni- 
ficence.    I  will  speak  plainly  on  this  point ;  I  do  most  hear- 
tily wish  they  had  flattered  me  with  some  token,  however 
.small,  of  which  I  might  have  said  this  is  a  tribute  to  my  phi- 
lanthropy^  and  delivered  it  down  to  my  children,  as  my  be- 
loved father  did  to  me  his  badge  of  favour  from  the  citizens 
of  Dublin  :  but  not  a  word  from  the  lips,  not  a  line  did  I  ever 
receive  from  the  pen  of  any  Jew,  though  I  have  found  my- 
self in  comi:jany  with  many  of  their  nation  :  and  in  this  per- 
haps the  gentlemen   are  quite  right,  whilst  I  had  formed 
expecUitions,  that  were  quite  wrong ;  for  if  I  have  sdcl  for 
them  only  what  they  deserve,  why  should  I  be  thanked  for 
it  ?  But  if  I  have  said  more,  much  more,  than  they  deserve, 
can  they  do  a  v/iser  tiling  than  hold  their  tongues  ? 

It  is  reported  of  me,  and  very  generally  believed,  that  I 
ec^mpose  with  great  rapidity.     I'must  own  the  mass  of  mv 
2  B  2 


306  MEMOIRS  OF 

writings  (of  which  the  world  has  not  seen  more  than  half), 
might  seem  to  warrant  that  report ;  but  it  is  only  true  in 
some  particular  instances,  not  in  the  general ;  if  it  were,  I 
should  not  be  disinclined  to  avail  myself  of  so  good  an  apol- 
ogy for  so  many  errors  and  inaccuracies,  or  of  so  good  a 
proof  of  the  fertility  and  vivacity  of  my  fancy.  The  fact  is, 
that  every  hour  in  the  day  is  my  hour^for  study,  and  that  a 
minute  rarely  passes,  in  which  I  am  absolutely  idle;  in 
short,  I  never  do  nothing.  Nature  has  given  me  the  here- 
ditary blessing  of  a  constitutional  and  habitual  temperance, 
that  revolts  against  excess  of  any  sort,  and  never  suffers 
appetite  to  load  the  frame  ;  I  am  accordingly  as  fit  to  resume 
ray  book  or  my  pen  the  instant  after  my  meal  as  I  wal^n  the 
freshest  hours  of  the  morning.  I  never  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  retire  to  my  study  for  silence  and  meditation  ;  in 
fact  my  book-room  at  Tunbridge  Wells  was  occupied  as  a 
bed-room,  and  what  books  I  had  occasion  to  consult  I  brought 
down  to  the  common  sitting-room,  where  in  company  with 
my  v\^ife  and  family  (neither  interrupting  them,  nor  inter- 
rupted by  them),  I  wrote  The  Observer,  or  whatever  else  I 
had  in  hand. 

I  think  it  cannot  be  supposed  but  that  the  composition  of 
those  essays  must  have  been  a  work  of  time  and  labour :  I 
trust  there  is  internal  evidence  of  that,  particularly  in  that 
portion  of  it,  which  professes  to  review  the  literary  age  of 
Greece,  and  gives  a  history  of  the  Athenian  stage.  That 
scries  of  papers  will  I  hope  remain  as  a  monument  of  my 
industry  in  collecting  materials,  and  of  my  correctness  in 
disposing  them  ;  and  when  I  lay  to  my  heart  the  consolation 
I  derive  from  the  honours  now  bestowed  upon  me  at  the 
close  of  m^y  career  by  one,  v/ho  is  only  in  the  first  outset  of 
his,  what  have  I  not  to  augur  for  myself,  when  he  who  starts 
v/ith  such  auspicious  promise  has  been  pleased  to  take  my 
fame  in  hand,  and  link  it  to  his  own  ?  If  any  of  my  readers 
-are  yet  to  seek  for  the  author,  to  v/hom  I  allude,  the  Conii- 
GOT  urn  Grae  coram  fragment  a  cjuaedam  will  lead  them  to  his 
name,  and  him  to  their  respect. 

If  I  cannot  resist  the  gratification  of  inserting  the  para^ 
graph,  (page  f )  v/hich  places  my  dim  lamp  between  those 
brilliant  stars  of  classic  lustre,  Richard  Bentley  and  Rich- 
ard Person,  am  I  to  be  set  down  as  a  conceited  vain  old 
man  ?  Let  it  be  so  !  I  can't  help  it,  and  in  truth  I  don*t 
much  care  about  it.     Though  the  follov»^ing  extract  may  be 


RICHAUD  CUMBERLAND.  307 

the  weakest  thing-,  that  Mr.  Robert  Walpole,  of  Trinity 
Collei^e,  Cambridge,  ever  has  written,  or  ever  shall  write, 
it  will  outlive  the  strongest  thing  that  can  be  said  against  it, 
and  I  will  therefore  arrest  and  incorporate  it  as  follows — 
Aliunde  quoque  hand  exiguum  ornamentura  huic  -volumini  ac- 
cessit^  siquidem  Cumberlandius  nostras  amice  benevoleque  fieV' 
missit<^  utversiones  suas  qitormidain  fragmcntoruin^  enquisitas 
sane  illas^  mirdjue  clegentid  conditas  et  commendatas  hue  tranS' 
f err  em. 

If  there  is  any  man,  who  has  reached  my  age,  and  written 
as  much  as  I  have  with  as  little  recompense  for  it,  who  can 
seriously  condemn  me,  to  his  sentence  I  submit ;  as  for 
the  snftrers  and  sub-critics,  who  can  neither  write  them- 
selves, nor  feel  for  those  who  do,  they  are  welcome  to  make 
the  most  of  it. 

My  publisher  informs  me  that  inquiries  are  made  of  him^ 
if  I  have  it  in  design  to  translate  more  comedies  of  Aristo- 
phanes, and  that  these  inquiries  are  accompanied  by  wishes 
for  my  undertaking  it.  I  am  flattered  by  the  honour,  wiiich 
these  gentlemen  confer  upon  me,  but  the  version  of  The 
Clouds  cost  me  much  tim^e  and  trouble  ;  I  have  no  right  to 
reckon  upon  much  more  time  for  any  thing,  and  it  is  very 
greatly  my  wish  to  collect  and  revise  the  whole  of  my  unpub- 
lished, and  above  all  of  my  unacted  dramas,  which  are  very 
numerous  ;  I  have  also  a  work  far  advanced,  though  put 
aside  during  the  writing  of  these  Memoirs,  which,  if  life  is 
granted  to  me,  I  shall  be  anxious  to  complete.  I  must  fur- 
ther observe  that  there  is  but  one  more  comedy  in  our  vol- 
ume of  Aristophanes,  viz.  The  Plutus^  which  I  could  be 
tempted  to  translate. 

As  I  hope  I  have  already  given  a  sufficent  answer  to  those, 
who  v/ere  ofTended  with  my  treatment  of  Socrates,  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say  of  the  Observer,  or  its  author. 

Henderson  acted  in  one  other  play  of  my  writing  for  his 
benefit,  and  took  the  part  of  The  Arab^  which  gave  its  title 
to  the  tragedy.  I  have  now  in  my  mind's  eye  the  look  he 
gave  me,  so  comically  conscious  of  taking  what  his  judgment 
told  him  he  ought  to  refuse,  when  I  put  into  his  hand  my 
tributary  guineas  for  the  fev/  places  I  had  taken  in  his  thea- 
tre— "  If  I  were  not  the  most  covetous  dog  in  creation,"  he 
cried,  "  I  should  not  take  your  money  ;  but  I  cannot  help  it." 
I  gave  my  tragedy  to  his  use  for  one  night  only,  and  have 
never  put  it  to  any  use  since.     His  death  soon  followed,  and 


308  MEMOIRS  OF 

he  was  hurried  to  the  grave  in  the  vigour  of  his  talents,  and 
the  meridian  of  his  fame. 

The  late  Mrs.  Pope,  then  Miss  Young,  performed  apart 
in  The  Arab^  and  I  find  an  epilogue,  which  I  presume  she 
spoke,  though  of  this  I  am  not  certain.  I  discovered  it 
amongst  my  papers,  and  as  I  flatter  myself  there  are  some 
points  in  it  not  amiss,  I  take  the  liberty  of  inserting  it. 

^'  Epilogue  to  the  Arab, 

"  Miss  Young. 

*'  Yes,  'tis  as  I  predicted— There  you  sit 
Expecting  some  smart  relisher  of  wit. 

Why,  'tis  a  delicacy  out  of  season 

Sirs,  have  some  conscience  !  ladies  hear  some  reason  ! 
With  your  accustom'd  grace  you  come  to  share 
Your  humble  actor's  annual  bill  of  fare  ; 
But  for  wit,  take  it  how  he  will,  I  tell  you. 
All  have  not  Falstaff 's  brains,  that  have  his  belly. 
Wit  is  not  all  men's  money  ;  when  you've  bought  it, 
Look  at  your  lot.  You're  trick'd.  Who  could  have  tho't  it  I 
Read  it,  'tis  folly  ;  court  it,  a  coquette  ; 
Wed  it,  a  libertine — you're  fairly  met. 
No  sex,  age,  country,  character,  nor  clime, 
No  rank  commands  it  ;  it  obeys  no  time  ; 
Fear'd,  lov'd  and  hated  ;  prais'd,  ador'd  and  curs'd, 
The  very  best  of  all  things  and  the  worst ; 
From  this  extreme  to  that  forever  hurl'd. 
The  idol  and  the  outlaw  of  the  Vv  orld, 
In  France,  Spain,  England,  Italy  and  Greece, 
The  joy,  plague,  pride  and  foot-ball  of  caprice. 
"  Is  it  in  that  man's  face,  who  looks  so  wise 
With  lips  half  opened  and  with  half-shut  eyes  ? 
Silent  grimace  ! — Flows  it  from  this  man's  tongue, 
With  quaint  conceits  and  punning  quibbles  hung  ? 
A  nauseous  counterfeit ! — Hark  ?  now  I  hear  it — 
Rank  infidelity  ! — I  cannot  bear  it. 
See  where  her  tea-table  Vanessa  spreads  ! 
A  motley  groupe  of  heterogeneous  heads 
Gathers  around  :  the  goddess  in  a  cloud 
Of  incense  sits  amidst  the  adoring  crowd. 
So  many  smiles,  nods,  simpers  she  dispenses 
Instead  of  five  you'd  think  she'd  fifteen  senses : 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  309 

Alike  impatient  all  at  once  to  shine, 
Eager  they  plunge  in  wit's  unfathom'd  mine  : 
Deep  underneath  the  stubborn  oar  remains, 
The  paltry  tin  breaks  up,  and  mocks  their  pains, 

"  Ask  wit  of  me  !  O  monstrous,  I  declare 
You  might  as  well  ask  it  of  my  Lord  Mayor  : 
Require  it  in  an  epilogue  1  a  road 
As  track'd  and  trodden  as  a  birth-day  ode  ; 
Oh,  rather  turn  to  those  malicious  elves, 
Who  see  it  on  no  mortal  but  themselves  ; 
Our  gratitude  is  all  we  have  to  give. 
And  that  we  trust  your  candour  will  receive." 

Garrick  died  also,  and  was  followed  to  the  Abbey  by  a 
long  extended  train  of  friends,  illustrious  for  their  rank  and 
genius,  who  truly  mourned  a  man,  so  perfect  in  his  art, 
that  nature  hath  not  yet  produced  an  actor  worthy  to  be  call- 
ed his  second.  I  saw  old  Samuel  Johnson  standing  beside 
his  grave,  at  the  foot  of  Shakspeare's  monument,  and  bathed 
in  tears  :  a  few  succeeding  years  laid  him  in  the  earth,  and 
though  the  marble  shall  preserve  for  ages  the  exact  resem- 
blance of  his  form  and  features,  his  own  strong  pen  has 
pictured  out  a  transcript  of  his  mind,  that  shall  outlive  that 
imd  the  very  language  which  he  laboured  to  perpetuate. 
Johnson's  best  days  were  dark,  and  only,  when  his  life  was 
far  in  the  decline,  he  enjoyed  a  gleam  of  fortune  long  with- 
held. Compare  him  with  his  countryman  and  contempora- 
ry last  mentioned,  and  it  will  be  one  instance  among  many, 
that  the  man,  who  only  brings  the  Muse's  bantlings  into  the 
world  has  better  lot  in  it,  than  he,  who  has  the  credit  of  be- 
getting them. 

Reynolds,  the  friend  of  both  these  worthies,  had  a  meas- 
ure of  prosperity  amply  dealt  out  to  him  ;  he  sunned  him- 
self in  an  unclouded  sky,  and  his  muse,  that  gave  him  a  pal- 
let dressed  by  all  the  Graces,  brought  him  also  a  cornu-copise 
rich  and  full  as  Flora,  Ceres,  and  Bacchus,  could  conspire 
to  make  it.  His  hearse  was  also  followed  by  a  noble  caval- 
cade of  mourners,  many  of  w^iom,  I  dare  believe,  left  bet- 
ter faces  hanging  by  the  wall,  than  those  they  carried  with 
them  to  his  funeral.  When  he  was  lost  to  the  world,  his 
death  was  the  dispersion  of  a  bright  and  luminous  circle  of 
ingenious  friends,  whom  the  elegance  of  his  manners,  the 
equability  of  his  temper  and  the  attraction  of  his  talents  had 


310  MEMOIRS  OF 

caused  to  assemble  round  him  as  the  centre  of  their  society 
In  all  the  most  engaging  graces  of  his  heart  ;  in  dispositioS 
attitude,  employment,  character  of  his  figures,  and  above 
all  in  giving  mind  and  meaning  to  his  portraits,  if  I  were  t<a 
say  Sir  Joshua  never  was  excelled,  I  am  inclined  to  believd 
so  many  better  opinions  would  be  with  me,  that  I  should  no^ 
be  found  to  have  said  too  much. 

Romney  in  the  mean  time  shy,  priv^ate,  studious  and  con- 
templative ;  conscious  of  all  the  disadvantages  and  privations 
of  a  very  stinted  education  ;  of  a  habit  naturally  hypochon-^ 
driac,  with  aspen  nerves,  that  every  breath  could  ruffle,  was 
at  once  in  art  the  rival,  and  in  nature  the  very  contrast  of  Sir 
Joshua.  A  man  of  few  wants,  strict  ceconomy  and  with  not 
dislike  to  money,  he  had  opportunities  enough  to  enrich  him' 
even  to  satiety,  but  he  was  at  once  so  eager  to  begin,  and  so' 
slow  in  finishing  his  portraits,  that  he  was  for  ever  disap- 
pointed of  receiving  paym^ent  for  them  by  the  casualties  and* 
revolutions  in  the  families  they  were  designed  for,  so  many 
of  his  sitters  were  killed  off]  so  many  favourite  ladies  were 
dismissed,  so  many  fond  wives  divorced,  before  he  would 
bestow  half  an  hour's  pains  upon  their  petticoats,  that  his' 
unsaleable  stock  was  immense,  whilst  with  a  little  more  re- 
gularity and  decision,  he  would  have  more  than  doubled  his^^ 
fortune,  and  escaped  an  infinitude  of  petty  troubles  that  dis-^ 
turbed  his  temper.  At  length  exhausted  rather  by  the  lan- 
guor than  by  the  labour  of  his  mind,  this  admirable  artist 
retired  to  his  native  country  in  the  north  of  England,  and 
there,  after  hovering  between  life  and  death,  neither  wholly, 
deprived  of  the  one  nor  completely  rescued  by  the  other,  he'^ 
continued  to  decline,  till  at  last  he  sunk  into  a  distant  andj 
inglorious  grave,  fortunate  alone  in  this,  that  his  fame  is  con- 
signed to  the  protection  of  Mr.  Hay  ley,  from  whom  the 
world  expects  his  history  ;  there  if  he  says  no  more  of  him, 
than  that  he  was  at  least  as  good  a  painter  as  Mr.  Cowpcr 
was  a  poet,  he  will  say  enough ;  and  if  his  readers  see  the' 
parallel  in  the  light  that  I  do,  they  will  not  think  that  he  shall 
have  said  too  much. 

When  I  first  knew  Romney,  he  was  poorly  lodged  in  New- 
port-street, and  painted  at  the  small  price  of  eight  guineas^ 
for  a  three-quarters  portrait  ;  I  sate  to  him,  and  was  the 
first  who  encouraged  him  to  advance  his  terms,  by  paying 
him  ten  guineas  for  his  performance.  I  brought  Garrick  to 
ser  his  pictures,  hoping  to  interest  him  in  his  favour :  a  large 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  311 

family  piece  unluckily  arrested  his  attention  ;  a  c^entlcman 
in  a  close-buckled  bob-wig  and  a  scarlet  waistcoat  laced  with 
gold,  with  his  wife  and  children,  (some  sitting,  some  stand- 
ing), had  taken  possession  of  some  yards  of  canvass  very 
much,  as  it  appeared,  to  their  own  satisfaction,  for  they  were 
perfectly  amused  in  a  contented  abstinence  from  all  thought 
or  action.  Upon  this  unfortunate  groupe  when  Garrick  had 
fixed  his  lynx's  eyes,  he  began  to  put  himself  into  the  atti- 
tude of  the  gentleman,  and  turning  to  Mr.  Romney — "  Upon 
my  word.  Sir,  said  ne,  this  is  a  very  regular  well-ordered 
family,  and  that  is  a  very  bright  well-rubbed  mahogany  table, 
at  which  that  motherly  good  lady  is  sitting,  and  this  worthy 
gentleman  in  the  scarlet  waistcoat  is  doubtless  a  very  excel- 
lent subject  to  the  state  I  mean,  (if  all  these  are  his  children) 
but  not  for  your  art,  Mr.  Romney,  if  you  mean  to  pursue  it 
with  tiliat  success,  which  I  hope  will  attend  you—"  The 
modest  artist  took  the  hint,  as  it  was  meant,  in  good  part,  and 
turned  his  flimily  with  their  faces  to  the  wall.  When  Rom- 
I  ney  produced  my  portrait,  not  yet  finished — It  was  very 
j  well,  Garrick  observed  :— "  That  is  very  like  my  friend,  and 
that  blue  coat  with  a  red  cape  is  very  like  the  coat  he  has 
on,  but  you  must  give  him  something  to  do ;  put  a  pen  in  his 
hand,  a  paper  on  his  table,  and  make  him  a  poet ;  if  you  can 
once  set  him  down  well  to  his  writing,  who  knows  but  in  time 
he  may  write  something  in  your  praise."  These  w^ords  were 
not  absolutely  unprophetical :  I  maintained  a  friendship  for 
Romney  to  his  death  ;  he  was  uniformly  kind  and  affection- 
ate to  me,  and  certainly  I  w^as  zealous  ia  my  services  to  him. 
After  his  death  I  wrote  a  sliort  account  of  him,  wdiich  was 
published  in  a  magazine  ;  I  did  my  best,  but  must  confess  I 
should  not  have  undertaken  it  but  at  the  desire  of  my  excel- 
led friend  Mr.  Green,  of  Bedford-Square,  and  being  further 
urged  to  it  by  the  wishes  of  two  other  valuable  friends,  Mr. 
Long,  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and  Mr.  Daniel  Braythwaite, 
whom  I  sincerely  esteem,  it  was  not  for  me  to  hesitate,  es- 
pecially as  I  was  not  then  informed  of  Mr.  Hay  ley's  purpose 
to  take  that  work  upon  himself. 

Here  I  am  tempted  to  insert  a  few  lines,  which  about  this 
time  I  put  together,  more  perhaps  for  the  purpose  of  speak- 
ing civilly  of  Mr.  Romney  than  for  any  other  use,  that  I 
could  put  them  to  ;  but  as  I  find  there  is  honourable  mention 
made  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  also,  I  give  the  whole  copy  as 
a  further  proof,  that  neither  in  verse  or  prose  did  I  ever  fail 


312  MEMOIRS  OF 

to  speak  of  that  celebrated  paji^ler  but  with  the  respect 
justly  due. 

"  When  Gothic  rage  had  put  the  arts  to  flight 
And  wrapt  the  world  in  universal  night, 
When  the  dire  northern  swarm  with  seas  of  blood 
Had  dro^^^led  creation  in  a  second  flood, 
When  all  was  void,  disconsolate  and  dark, 
Rome  in  her  ashes  found  one  latent  spark, 
She,  not  unmindful  of  her  ancient  name, 
Nurs'd  her  last  hope  and  fed  the  secret  flame  ; 
Stili  as  it  grew,  new  streams  of  orient  light 
Beam'd  on  the  w^orld  and  cheered  the  fainting  sight  i 
Rous'd  from  the  tombs  of  the  illustrious  dead 
Immortal  science  rear'd  her  mournful  head ; 
And  mourn  she  shall  to  time's  extremest  hour 
The  dire  eff*ects  of  Omar's  savage  power, 
When  ligid  Amrou's  too  obedient  hand 
Made  Alexandria  blaze  at  his  command ; 
Six  months  he  fed  the  sacrilegious  flame 
With  the  stor'd  volumes  of  recorded  fame  : 
There  died  all  memory  of  the  great  and  good 
Then  Greece  and  Rome  were  finally  subdu'd. 

"  Yet  monkish  ignorance  had  not  quite  effac'd 
All  that  the  chissel  wrought,  the  pencil  trac'd  ; 
Some  precious  reliques  of  the  ancient  hoard 
Or  happy  chance,  or  curious  search  restor'd ; 
The  wandering  artist  kindled  as  he  gaz'd. 
And  caught  perfection  from  the  work  he  prais'd. 

"  Of  painters  then  the  celebrated  race 
Rose  into  fame  with  each  attendant  grace  ; 
Still,  as  it  spread,  the  wonder-dealing  art 
Improv'd  the  manners  and  reform'd  the  heart ; 
Darkness  dispers'd,  and  Italy  became 
Once  more  the  seat  of  elegance  and  fame. 

"  Late,  very  late,  on  this  sequester'd  isle 
The  heaven-descended  art  w^as  seen  to  smile  ; 
Seldom  she  came  to  this  storm-beaten  coast. 
And  short  her  stay,  just  seen,  adrnir'd  and  lost ; 
Reynolds  at  length,  her  favourite  suiter,  bore 
The  blushing  stranger  to  his  native  shore  ; 
He  by  no  mean,  no  selfish  motive  sway'd 
To  public  view  held  forth  the 'liberal  maid, 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  c>U 

Call'd  his  admirini^  countrymen  around, 

Freely  declar'd  what  raptures  he  had  found  ; 

Told  them  that  merit  would  alike  impart 

To  him  or  them  a  passage  to  her  heart. 

Rous*d  at  the  call,  all  came  to  view  her  charms, 

All  press'd,  all  strove  to  clasp  her  in  their  arms  ; 

See  Coajs  and  Vance  and  Gainsborough  seize  the  spoil, 

And  ready  Mortimer  that  laughs  at  toil ; 

Crown'd  with  fresh  roses  graceful  Humphrey  stands, 

While  beauty  grows  immortal  from  his  hands  ; 

Stubhs  like  a  lion  springs  upon  his  prey. 

With  bold  eccentric  Wright  that  hates  the  day  : 

Familiar  Zoffany  with  comic  art, 

And  West^  great  painter  of  the  human  heart. 

These  and  yet  more  unnam'd  that  to  our  eyes 

Bid  lawns  and  groves  and  tow'ring  mountains  rise, 

Point  the  bold  rock  or  stretch  the  bursting  sail, 

Smooth  the  calm  sea,  or  drive  the  impetuous  gale  : 

Some  hunt  'midst  fruit  and  flowery  wreaths  for  fame, 

And  Elmer  springs  it  in  the  feather'd  game. 

''  Apart  and  bending  o'er  the  azure  tide. 
With  heavenly  Contemplation  by  his  side, 
A  peevish  artist  stands — in  thoughtful  mood. 
With  downcast  looks  he  eyes  the  ebbing  flood ; 
No  wild  ambition  swells  his  temperate  heart, 
Himself  as  pure,  as  patient  as  his  art, 
Nor  sullen  sorrow,  nor  intemperate  joy 
The  even  tenour  of  his  thoughts  destroy, 
An  undistinguish'd  candidate  for  fame. 
At  once  his  country's  glory  and  its  shame  : 
Rouse  then  at  length,  with  honest  pride  inspired, 
Romney^  advance  I  be  known  and  be  admir'd." 

I  perceive  I  must  resume  the  immediate  subject  of  these 
Memoirs  ;  it  is  truly  a  relief  to  me,  when  I  am,  called  off* 
from  it,  for  unvaried  egotism  would  be  a  toil  too*  heavy  for 
my  mind.  When  I  attempt  to  look  into  the  mass  of  my 
productions,  I  can  keep  no  order  in  the  enumeration  of  them  ; 
■  I  have  not  patience  to  arrange  them  according  to  their  dates  ; 
I  believe  I  have  written  at  leastfifty  dramas  published  and 
unpublished.  Amongst  tlie  latter  of  these  there  are  some, 
which  in  my  sincere  opinion  are  better  tlian  most,  which 
have  vet  seen  the  light :  they  certainly  have  had  the  advan- 
2  c 


314  MEMOIRS  OF 

tages  of  a  more  mature  correction.  When  I  went  to  Spain 
1  iett  ill  Mr.  Harris's  ■  ancls  a  tragedy  on  the  subject  of  2'he 
ILlaer  Brutus  ;  the  temper  of  the  times  was  by  no  mean^ 
suited  to  the  char^iCtCi  of  the  play  ;  I  hiive  never  written' 
atjy  drama  so  much  to  my  own  satisfaction,  and  my  partitility 
to  it  iias  been  flatte  ed  by  tiiC  judgment  of  several  who  hav^ 
read  it.  I  have  w  ritten  drj.mas  on  the  stories  of  the  False 
Demetrius^  of  Tibereus  in  CajirciZ^  and  a  tragedy  on  a  plot 
purely  inventive,  which  I  intitled  Torrendal ;  these  with  se- 
veral others  may  in  time  to  come,  if  life  shah  be  coj.tiiiuecl 
to  me,  be  formed  into  a  collection  and  submitted  to  the 
public. 

About  the  time,  at  v^diich  my  story  points,  my  tragedy  of 
The  Carmcliie  was  acted  at  Drury-Lane,  and  most  ably  sup- 
ported by  Mrs.  Siddons,  wiio  took  the  part  of  the  Lady  ol 
Saint  Valori,  and  also  spoke  the  Epilogue.  She  played 
inimitably,  and  in  those  days,  when  only  men  and  womea 
trode  the  stage,  the  public  were  contented  with  what  was  per- 
fect in  nature,  and  of  course  admired  and  applauded  Mrs. 
Siddons  :  they  could  then  also  see  merit  in  Mr.  Kemble^ 
who  was  in  the  commencement  of  his  career,  and  appearr 
ed  in  the  character  of  the  youthful  Montgomeri  :  the  audi- 
ences of  that  time  did  not  think  the  w^orse  of  him  because' 
he  had  reached  the  age  of  manhood,  and  appeared  be- 
fore them  in  the  full  stature  and  complete  maturity  of 
one  of  the  finest  forms,  that  probably  was  ever  exhibit- 
ed upon  a  public  stage.  A  revolution  since  then  has 
taken  place,  a  caprice  as  ridiculous  as  it  is  extraordinary, 
and  a  general  act  of  superannuation  has  gone  forth  agains^ 
every  male  performer,  that  has  a  beard.  How  lam  to  style 
this  young  child  of  fortune,  this  adopted  favourite  of  thQ 
public,  I  don't  rightly  know ;  the  bills  of  Covent-Garder^ 
announce  him  as  Master  Betty,  those  of  Drury-Lane  as  the 
Young  Roscius.  Roscius,  as  I  believe  upon  the  authority  o| 
Shakspeare,  was  an  actor  in  Rovie^  and  Cicero,  who  admir- 
ed him,  made  a  speech  in  his  praise  :  all  this  of  course  is 
very  right  on  both  sides,  and  exactly  as  it  should  be.  Mr. 
Harris  announces  him  to  the  old  women  in  the  galleries  in 
a  phrase,  that  is  familiar  to  them,  whilst  Mr.  Sheridan^ 
presenting  him  to  the  senators  in  tiie  boxes  by  the  style  and 
title  of  Roscius,  fails  perhaps  in  his  little  representative  of 
the  great  Roman  actor,  but  perfectly  succeeds  in  his  own 
similitude  to  the  eloquent  Roman  orator.     In  the  metm  time 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  315 

my  friend  Smith  of  Bury,  with  all  that  zeal  for  merit, 
which  is  natural  to  him,  marries  him  to  Melpomene  with 
the  rin^  of  Garrick,  and  strevvini^  roses  of  Parnussus 
on  the  nuptial  couch,  crowns  happy  Master  Betty,  alias 
Young  Rosciusj  with  a  never-fading  chaplet  of  immortal 
verse 

jlnd  now  when  death  dissolves  his  inortal frame ^ 
His  soul  shall  mount  to  heaven  from  whence  it  came  ; 
ILarth  keefi  his  ashes j  verse  /ireserve  his  fa?Jie. 

How  delicious  to  be  praised  and  paneeerised  in  such  a 
style  ;  to  be  caressed  by  dukes,  and  (which  is  better)  by 
the  daughters  of  dukes,  flattered  by  wits,  feasted  by  Alder- 
men, stuck  up  in  the  windows  of  printshops,  and  set  astride 
(as  these  eyes  have  seen  him)upon  the  cut-water  of  a  priva- 
teer, like  the  tutelary  genius  of  the  British  flag. 

What  encouragements  doth  this  great  enlightened  nation 
hold  forth  to  merit  ?  What  a  consolatory  reflection  must  it 
be  to  the  superannuated  yello\^  admirals  of  the  stage,  that 
when  they  shall  arrive  at  a  second  childhood^  they  may  still 
have  a  chance  to  arrive  at  honoui^s  second  only  to  these  !  I 
declare  I  saw  with  surprise  a  man,  who  led  about  a  bear  to 
dance  for  the  edification  of  the  public,  lose  all  his  popularity 
in  the  street,  where  this  exquisite  gentleman  has  his  lodg- 
ing ;  the  people  ran  to  see  him  at  the  window,  and  left  the 
bear  and  the  bear-leader  in  a  solitude.  I  saw  this  exquisite 
young  gentleman,  whilst  I  paced  the  streets  on  foot,  Vafted 
to  his  morning's  rehearsal  in  a  vehicle,  that  to  my  vulgar 
optics  seemed  to  wear  upon  its  polished  doors  the  ensign  of 
a  ducal  crown  ;  I  looked  to  see  if  haply  John  Kemble  were 
on  the  braces,  or  Cooke  perchance  behind  the  coach ;  I 
saw  the  lacquies  at  their  posts,  but  Glenalvon  was  not 
there  :  I  found  John  Kemble  sick  at  home — ^I  said  within 
myself 

Oh  !  what  a  time  have  you  chose  oiit^  brave  Caius^ 
7'o  wear  a  kerchief?    Would  you  were  not  sick  ! 

We  shall  have  a  second  influx  of  the  pigmies  ;  they  will 
pour  upon  us  in  multitudes  innumerable  as  a  shoal  of  sprats, 
and  when  at  last  we  have  nothing  else  but  such  small  fry  to 
feed  on,  an  epidemic  nausea  will  take  place. 


316  MEMOIRS  OF 

There  are  intervals  in  fevers ;  there  are  lucid  moments  in 
madness  ;  even  folly  cannot  keep  possession  of  the  mind  for 
ever.  It  is  very  natural  to  encourage  rising  genius,  it  i^ 
highly  commendable  to  foster  its  first  shoots  ;  we  admire^ 
and  caress  a  clever  school-boy,  but  we  should  do  very  ill  tor 
turn  his  master  out  of  his  ofiice  and  put  him  into  it.  If  th^ 
theatres  persist  in  their  puerilities,  they  will  find  them- 
selves very  shortly  in  the  predicament'  of  an  ingenious 
mechanic,  whom  I  remember  in  my  younger  days,  and 
whose  story  I  will  briefly  relate,  in  hopes  it  may  be  a  warn^ 
ingtothcm.  ; 

This  very  ingenious  artist,  when  Mr.  Rich  the  Harlequii\ 
v/as  the  great  dramatic  author  of  his  time,  and  wrote  sue-* 
cessfully  for  the  stage,  contrived  and  executed  a  most  deli- 
cious serpent  for  one  of  those  inimitable  productions,  in 
which  Mr.  Rich,  justly  disdaining  the  weak  aid  of  languagej 
liad  selected  the  classical  fable  (if  I  rightly  recollect  it)  oi 
Orpheus  and  Euridyce,  and  having  conceived  a  very  capita 
part  for  the  serpent,  was  justly  anxious  to  provide  himseli 
with  a  performer,  who  could  support  a  character  of  that  con** 
sequence  with  credit  to  himself  and  to  his  author.  Th^ 
event  answered  his  most  ardent  hopes ;  nothing  could  bq 
more  perfect  in  his  entrances  and  exits,  nothing  ever  crawl-? 
ed  across  the  stage  with  more  accomplished  sinuosity  than 
this  enchanting  serpent ;  every  soul  was  charmed  with  its 
performance  ;  it  twirled  and  twisted  and  wriggled  itself  about 
in  so  divine  a  manner,  the  whole  world  was  ravished  with 
the  lovely  snake  ;  nobles  and  non-nobles,  rich  and  poor,  old 
and  young,  reps  and  demi-reps  flocked  to  see  it,  and  admire 
it.  The  artist,  who  had  been  the  master  of  the  movement, 
was  intoxicated  with  his  success  ;  he  turned  his  hands  and 
head  to  nothing  else  but  serpents  ;  he  made  them  of  all  si- 
zes, they  crawled  about  his  shop  as  if  he  had  been  chief 
5>nake-catcher  to  the  furies  :  the  public  curiosity  was  satis- 
fied Avith  one  serpent,  and  he  had  nests  of  them  yet  unsold  ; 
his  stock  laid  dead  upon  his  hands,  his  trade  was  lost,  and  the 
man  ws  ruined,  bankrupt  and  undone. 

Here  it  occurs  to  me  that  in  one  of  my  preceding  pages  I 
have  promised  to  address  a  parting  word  to  my  brethren  and 
contemporaries  in  the  dramatic  line.  If  what  I  have  now 
been  saymg  coincides  with  their  opinions,  I  have  said  enough; 
if  it  does  not,  what  I  might  add  to  it  would  be  all  too  much, 
iiod  the  experience  of  gr^y  hairs  would  be  in  vain  opposed 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  317 

to  the  prejudices  of  green  heads  .May  success  attend  them 
in  their  efforts,  whenever  they  shall  seriously  address  them 
to  the  study  of  the  legitimate  drama,  and  the  restoration  of 
good  taste  !  There  is  no  lack  of  genius  in  the  nation  ;  I  there- 
fore will  not  totally  despair,  old  as  I  am,  of  living  still  to  wit- 
ness the  commencement  of  a  brighter  aera. 

About  this  time  I  undertook  the  hardy  task  of  differing  in 
opinion  from  one  of  the  ablest  scholars  and  finest  writers  in 
the  kingdom,  and  controverted  the  proposal  of  the  Bishop 
of  Llandaff  for  equalizing  the  revenues  of  the  hierarchy  and 
dignitaries  of  the  church  established.  I  still  think  I  had  the 
best  of  the  argument,  and  that  his  lordship  did  a  wiser  thing 
in  declining  the  controversy,  than  in  throwing  out  the  pro- 
posal. I  have  read  a  charge  of  the  bishop's  to  the  clergy  of 
his  diocese  for  enforcing  many  points  of  discipline,  8c  enjoin- 
ing residence.  As  his  lordship  neither  resides  in  his  diocese, 
nor  excutes  the  important  duty  of  Regius  Professor  of  Di- 
vinity in  person,  I  am  not  informed  whether  his  clergy  took 
their  rule  of  conduct  from  his  precept,  or  from  his  exam- 
ple ;  but  I  take  for  gr?inted  that  those,  whose  poverty  con- 
fined them  to  their  parsonages,  did  not  stray  from  home, 
and  that  those,  whose  means  enabled  them  to  visit  other  pla- 
ces, did  not  want  a  precedent  to  refer  to  for  their  apology. 

As  I  have  dealt  extremely  little  in  anonymous  publica- 
tions, I  may  as  well  confess  myself  in  this  place  the  author 
of  a  pamphlet  entitled  Curtius  rescued  from  the  Gulph,  I 
conceived  that  Doctor  Parr  had  hit  an  unoffending  gentleman 
too  hard,  by  launching  a  huge  fragment  of  Greek  at  his  de- 
fenceless head.  The  subject  was  started,  and  the  extermi- 
nating weapon  produced  at  on^  of  my  friend  Dilly's  literary 
dinners ;  there  were  several  gentlemen  present  better 
armed  for  the  encounter  than  myself,  but  the  lot  fell  upon 
me  to  turn  out  against  Ajax.  I  made  us  good  a  fight  as  I 
could,  and  rummaged  my  indexes  for  quotations,  which  I 
crammed  into  my  artillery  as  thick  as  grape  shot,  and  in 
mere  sport  fired  them  off  against  a  rock  invulnerable  as  the 
armour  of  Achilles.  It  was  very  well  observed  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Diily  upon  the  profusion  of  quotations,  v/hich  some 
WTiters  affectedly  made  use  of,  that  he  knew^  a  presbytei  ian 
parson,  who  for  eighteen-pence  w^ould  furnish  any  pam- 
phleteer with  as  many  scraps  of  Greek  and  Latin,  as  would 
pass  him  off  for  an  accomplished  classic.  I  simply  discharge 
a  debt  of  gratitude,  justly  due,  when  I  acknovviedge  thg^ 
2  c  2 


518  MEMOIRS  OF        > 

great  and  frequent  gratifications  I  have  received  at  the  hos4 
pitable  board  of  the  worthy  friend  last-mentioned,  ^Yho  whilstj 
he  conducted  upon  principles  of  the  strictest  integrity  the 
extensive  business  carried  on  at  his  house  in  the  Poultry^ 
kept  a  table  ever  open  to  the  patrons  and  pursuers  of  lite-^ 
rature,  which  was  so  administered  as  to  draw  the  best  circles 
together,  and  to  put  them  most  completely  at  their  ease.^ 
No  man  ever  understood  this  better,  and  few  ever  practised 
it  with  such  success,  or  on  so  large  a  scale  :  it  was  done  with- 
out parade,  and  in  that  consisted  the  peculiar  air  of  comfort 
and  repose,  which  characterized  those  meetings  ;  hence  it 
came  to  pass  that  men  of  genius  and  learning  resorted  to 
them  with  delight,  and  here  it  was  that  they  were  to  be 
found  divested  of  reserve,  and  in  their  happiest  moments. 
Under  this  roof  the  biographer  of  Johnson,  and  the  pleasant 
tourist  to  Corsica  and  the  Hebrides,  passed  many  jovial 
joyous  ho'jrs  ;  here  he  has  located  some  of  the  liveliest  scenes 
and  most  brilliant  passages  in  his  entertaining  anecdotes  of 
his  friend  Samuel  Johnson,  who  yet  lives  and  speaks  in  him. 
The  book  of  Boswell,  is,  ever  as  the  year  comes  round,  my 
"winter-eveiiing's  entertainment :  I  loved  the  man  ;  he  had 
great  convivial  powers,  and  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  good 
humour  in  society  :  no  body  could  detail  the  spirit  of  a  con- 
versation in  the  true  style  and  character  of  the  parties  more 
happily  than  my  friend  James  Boswell,  especially  when  his 
vivacity  was  excited,  and  his  heart  exhilerated  by  the  circu- 
lation of  the  glass,  and  the  grateful  odour  of  a  well-broiled 
lobster. 

To  these  parties  I  can  trace  my  first  impressions  of  es- 
teem for  certain  characters,  whose  meiits  are  above  my 
praise,  and  of  whose  friendship  I  have  still  to  boast.  From 
Mr  Billy's  hospitality  I  derive  not  only  the  recollection  of 
pleasure  past,  but  the  enjoyment  of  happiness  yet  in  my 
possession.  Death  has  not  struck  so  deep  into  that  circle^ 
but  that  some  are  left,  whose  names  are  dear  to  society, 
-whom  1  have  still  to  number  amongst  my  living  friends,  to 
whom  I  can  resort  and  find  myself  not  lost  to  their  remem- 
brance. Our  hospitable  host,  retired  from  business,  still 
greets  me  with  a  friendly  welcome  :  in  the  company  of  the 
worthy  BraythweJte  I  can  enjoy  the  contemplation  of  a 
man  universally  beloved,  full  indeed  of  years,  but  warm 
in  feeling,  unimpaired  in  faculties  and  glowing  with  bene- 
voience. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  3i9 

I  can  visit  the  justly  admired  author  of  The  Pleasures  of 
Memory^  and  find  myself  with  a  friend,  who  together  v/ith 
the  brightest  genius  possesses  elegance  of  manners  and  ex- 
cellence of  heart.  He  tells  me  he  remembers  the  day  of 
our  first  meeting  at  Mr.  Billy's ;  I  also  remember  it,  and 
though  his  modest  unassuming  nature  held  back  and  shrunk 
from  all  appearances  of  ostentation  and  display  of  talents,  yet 
even  then  I  take  credit  for  discovering  a  promise  of  good 
things  to  come,  and  suspected  him  of  holding  secret  com- 
merce with  the  Muse,  before  the  proof  appeared  in  shape  of 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  harmonious  poems  in  our  lan- 
guage. I  do  not  say  that  he  has  not  ornamented  the  age  he 
lives  in,  though  he  were  to  stop  where  he  is,  but  I  hope  he 
will  not  so  totally  deliver  himself  over  to  the  Arts  as  to  neg- 
lect the  Muses  ;  and  I  now  publicly  call  upon  Samuel  Ro- 
gers to  answer  to  his  name,  and  stand  forth  in  the  title 
page  of  some  future  work  that  shall  be  in  substance 
greater,  in  dignity  of  subject  more  sublime,  and  in  purity 
of  versification  not  less  charming  than  his  poem  above- 
mentioned. 

My  good  and  worthy  friend  Mr.  Sharpe  has  made  himself 
in  some  degree  responsible  to  the  public,  for  having  beea 
the  first  to  suggest  to  me  the  idea  of  writing  this  huge  vol- 
ume of  my  Memoirs  ;  he  knows  I  was  not  easily  encourag- 
ed to  believe  my  history  could  be  made  interesting  to  the 
readers  of  it,  and  in  truth  opinion  less  authoritative  than  his 
would  not  have  prevailed  with  me  to  commit  myself  to  the 
undertaking.  Neither  he  nor  I  however  at  that  time  had 
any  thought  of  publishing  before  my  death  ;  in  proof  of 
v/hich  I  have  luckily  laid  my  hand  upon  the  following  lines 
amongst  the  chaos  of  my  manuscripts,  which  v;ill  shew  that 
I  made  suit  to  him  to  protect  this  and  other  reliques  of  my 
pen,  when  I  had  paid  the  debt  of  nature 

"  To  Richard  Shai'pe,  Esquire,  of  Mark-Lane.'* 

"  If  rhyme  e'er  spoke  the  language  of  the  hearty 
Or  truth  employ 'd  the  measured  phrase  of  art. 
Believe  me,  Sharpe,  this  verse,  which  smoothly  flows. 
Hath  all  the  rough  sincerity  of  prose.         * 
False  flattering  words  from  eager  lips  may  fly, 
But  who  can  pause  to  harmonize  a  lie  ? 
Or  e'er  he  made  the  jingling  couplet  chime^ 


320  MEMOIRS  OF 

Conscience  would  start  and  reprobate  the  rhyme. 

If  then  'twere  merely  to  entrap  your  ear 

I  call'd  you  friend,  and  pledg'd  myself  sincere, 

Genius  would  shudder  at  the  base  design, 

And  my  hand  tremble  as  I  shap'd  the  line. 

Poets  oft  times  are  tickled  with  a  word, 

That  gaily  glitters  at  the  festive  board. 

And  many  a  man,  my  judgment  can't  approve, 

Hath  trick'd  my  foolish  fancy  of  its  love  ; 

For  every  foible  natural  to  my  race 

Finds  for  a  time  with  me  some  fleeting  place  ; 

But  occupants  so  weak  have  no  controul, 

No  fix'd  and  legal  tenure  in  my  soul. 

Nor  will  my  reason  quit  the  faithful  clue, 

That  points  to  truth,  to  virtue  and  to  you. 

"  In  the  vicissitudes  of  life  we  find 
Strange  turns  and  twinings  in  the  human  mind, 
And  he,  who  seeks  consistency  of  plan. 
Is  little  vers'd  in  the  great  map  of  man  ; 
The  wider  still  the  sphere  in  which  we  live, 
The  more  our  calls  to  suffer  and  forgive  : 
But  from  the  hour  (and  many  years  are  past) 
From  the  first  hour  I  knew  you  to  the  last. 
Through  ev'ry  scene,  self-center'd  and  at  rest, 
Your  steady  character  hath  stood  the  test, 
No  rash  conceits  divert  your  solid  thought. 
By  patience  foster'd  and  with  candour  fraught ; 
Mild  in  opinion,  but  of  soul  sincere. 
And  only  to  the  foes  of  truth  severe, 
So  unobtrusive  is  your  wisdom's  tone. 
Your  converts  hear  and  fancy  it  their  own. 
With  hand  so  fine  you  probe  the  festering  mind. 
You  heal  our  wounds,  and  leave  no  sore  behind. 

"  Now  say,  my  friend — but  e'er  you  touch  the  task 
Weigh  well  the  burden  of  the  boon  I  ask — 
Say,  when  the  pulses  of  this  heart  shall  cease. 
And  my  soul  quits  her  cares  to  seek  her  peace. 
Will  your  zeal  prompt  you  to  protect  the  name 
Of  one  not  totally  miknown  to  fame  ? 
Will  youj  wr:o  only  can  the  place  supply 
Of  a  lost  son,  befriend  my  progeny  ? 
For  wi; en  the  wreck  goes  down  there  will  be  found 
Some  i  einnauts  of  tiie  freight  to  float  around, 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  33| 

Some  that  long  time  hath  almost  snatch'd  from  sight, 
And  more  unseen,  that  struggle  for  the  light  j 
And  sure  I  am  the  stage  will  not  refuse, 
To  lift  her  curtain  for  my  widow'd  Muse, 
Nor  will  her  hearers  less  indulgent  be, 
When  that  last  curtain  shall  be  dropt  on  me." 

I  have  fairly  given  the  reasons,  that  prevailed  with  me  for 
publishing  these  Memoirs  in  my  life  time,  and  I  believe 
€very  man,  that  knows  them,  will  acknowledge  they  are 
reasons  sufficiently  cogent.  My  friend  Sharpe  very  kindly 
acceded  to  the  suit  above-made  ;  Mr.  Rogers  has  since  join- 
ed him  in  the  task,  and  Sir  James  Bland  Burges,  of  whose 
friendship  I  have  had  many  and  most  convincing  proofs,  has 
with  the  candour  that  is  natural  to  an  enlightened  mind,  gen- 
erously engaged  to  take  his  share  in  selecting  and  arranging 
ing  the  miscellaneous  farrago,  that  will  be  found  in  my 
drawers,  after  my  body  has  been  committed  to  the  earth. 
To  these  three  friends  I  devote  this  task,  and  upon  their 
judgment  I  rely  for  the  publication  or  suppression  of  what 
they  may  find  amongst  my  literary  relics  ;  they  are  all  much 
younger  men  than  I  am,  and  I  pray  God,  that  death,  who 
cannot  long  spare  me,  will  not  draw  those  arrows  from  his 
quiver,  which  fate  has  destined  to  extinguish  them,  till  they 
have  completed  a  career  equal  at  least  in  length  to  mine, 
crowned  with  more  fame,  and  graced  with  much  more  for- 
tune and  prosperity.  I  know  that  they  will  do  what  they 
have  said,  and  faithfully  protect  my  posthumous  reputation, 
as  I  have  been  a  faithful  friend  to  them  and  to  their  living 
works. 

The  heroic  poem  of  Richard  the  First  is  truly  a  very  ex- 
traordinary work.  I  am  a  witness  to  the  extreme  rapidity, 
with  which  my  friend  the  author  wrote  it.  It  far  exceeded 
the  supposed  rate,  at  which  Pope  translated  Homer,  which 
being  at  fifty  lines  per  day,  Samuel  Johnson  hesitates  to  givQ 
credit  to.  If  to  this  we  take  into  account  the  peculiar  con- 
struction of  the  stanza,  every  one  of  which  involves  four, 
three  and  two  terminations  in  rhyme,  and  which  must  natu- 
rally have  enhanced  the  labour  of  the  poet  in  a  very  conside- 
ble  degree,  I  am  astonished  at  the  facility,  with  which  Sir 
James  has  triumphed  over  the  difficulties,  that  he  chose  to 
impose  upon  himself,  and  must  confess  his  Muse  moves 
gracefully  in  her  fetters.     I  was  greatly  pleased  to  see  that 


322  MEMOIRS  OF 

the  learned  and  judicious  Mr.  Todd  in  his  late  edition  oj 
Spenser  has  spoken  of  this  poem  in  such  handsome  terms^ 
as  I  can  never  meet  a  stronger  confirmation  of  my  own  opi- 
nion, than  when  I  find  it  coinciding  with  that  of  so  excel- 
lent a  critic.  The  ^era,  in  w^hich  my  friend  has  placed  hii 
poem,  the  hero  he  has  chosen,  and  the  chivalric  character,' 
with  which  he  has  very  properly  marked  it,  are  circumstan- 
ces that  might  naturally  prevail  with  him  for  modelling  it 
upon  the  stanza  of  the  Fairy  Queen,  which,  though  it  has  not 
so  proud  a  march  as  the  heroic  verse,  has  certainly  more  of 
the  knightly  prance  in  it,  and  of  course  more  to  the  writer*s 
purpose  than  the  rhyming  couplet.  Perhaps  the  public  at 
large  have  not  yet  formed  a  proper  estimate  of  the  real  merit 
of  this  heroic  poem.  Its  adoption  of  a  stanza,  obsolete  and 
repetitionary  on  the  ear,  is  a  circumstance,  that  stamps  upon 
it  the  revolting  air  of  an  imitation,  which  in  fact  it  is  not, 
and  deters  many  from  reading  it,  who  would  else  find  mvich 
to  admire,  and  instead  of  discovering  any  traces  of  the  Fairy 
Queen,  would  meet  enough  to  remind  them  of  a  nobler  mo 
del  in  the  Iliad  of  Homer.  In  the  mean  time  it  gives  me  great 
satisfaction  to  know^  that  the  author  of  Richard  has  since  paid 
loyal  service  to  the  dramatic  Muse,  and  when  a  mind  so 
prompt  in  execution,  and  so  fully  stored  with  the  knowledge 
both  of  men  and  books,  shall  address  its  labours  to  the  stage, 
I  should  be  loath  to  doubt  but  that  the  time  will  come  when 
classic  writing  shall  expel  grimace. 

I  hope  I  shall  in  no  wise  hurt  the  feelings  of  a  lady,  who 
now  most  worthily  fills  a  very  elevated  station,  if,  in  speak- 
ing of  my  humble  productions,  in  the  course  of  my  subject 
I  cannot  avoid  to  speak  of  one  of  the  most  elegant  actresses 
that  ever  graced  the  stage.  When  I  brought  out  my  come- 
dy of  The  JVatural  Son^  I  flattered  myself  that  in  the  sketch 
of  Lady  Paraxon  I  had  conceived  a  character  not  quite  un- 
worthy of  the  talents  of  Miss  Farran  :  it  is  saying  little  in  the 
way  of  praise,  when  I  acknowledge  the  partiality  I  still  re- 
tain for  that  particular  part,  and  indeed  for  that  play  in  gen- 
eral. It  was  acted  and  published  in  the  same  season  with 
the  Carmelite,  and  though  I  did  not  either  in  that  instance, 
or  in  any  other  to  my  knowledge,  obtrude  myself  upon  the 
public  to  the  excluson  of  a  competitor,  still  it  was  so  that 
the  town  was  pleased  to  interpret  my  second  appeal  to  their 
candour,  and  the  newspapers  of  tlie  day  vented  their  malig- 
nancy against  me  in  the  most  approbrious  terms.     So  exqul- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  323 

site  was  the  style,  in  which  Miss  Farran  gave  her  character 
its  best  display,  and  so  respectable  were  her  auxiliaries  in 
the  scene,  particularly  Mr.  John  Palmer,  that  they  could 
never  deprive  the  comedy  of  favourable  audiences,  though 
their  eiforts  too  frequently  succeeded  in  preventing  them 
from  being  full  ones.  It  was  a  persecution  most  disgraceful 
to  the  freedom  of  the  press,  and  the  performers  resented 
it  with  a  sensibility,  that  did  them  honour  ;  they  traced 
some  of  the  paragraphs  to  their  dirty  origin,  but  upon  minds 
entirely  debused  shame  has  no  effect. 

I  now  foresaw  the  coming  on  of  an  event,  that  must  inev- 
itably deprive  me  of  one  of  the  greatest  comforts,  which  still 
adhered  to  me  in  my  decline  of  fortune.  It  was  too  evident 
that  tiie  constitution  of  Lord  Sackviile,  long  harassed  by  the 
painful  visitation  of  that  dreadful  malady  the  stone,  wasde- 
cideiily  giving  way.  There  was  in  him  so  generous  a  re- 
pugnance against  troubling  his  friends  with  any  complaints, 
that  it  w^as  from  external  evidence  only,  never  from  con- 
fession, that  his  sufferings  couid  be  guessed  at.  Attacks, 
that  would  have  confined  most  people  to  their  beds,  never 
moved  him  from  his  habitual  punctuality.  It  was  curious, 
and  probably  in  some  men's  eyes  would  from  its  extreme 
precision  have  appeared  ridiculously  minute  and  formal, 
yet  in  the  movements  of  a  domestic  establishment  so  large 
as  his,  it  had  its  uses  and  comforts,  which  his  guests  and 
family  could  not  fail  to  partake  of.  As  sure  as  the  hand  of 
the  clock  pointed  to  the  half-hour  after  nine,  neither  a  min- 
ute before  nor  a  minute  after,  so  sure  did  tiie  good  lord  of  the 
castle  step  into  his  breakfast  room,  ac<ioutred  at  all  points 
according  to  his  own  invariable  costuma,  with  a  complacent 
countenance,  that  prefaced  his  goo^i-morningto  each  person 
there  assembled  ;  and  now,  whilst  I  recall  these  senes  to 
my  remembrance,  I  feel  gratJAed  by  the  reflection,  that  I 
never  passed  a  night  beneadi  his  roof,  but  that  his  morning's 
salutation  met  me  at  my  posC  He  allowed  an  hour  and  an 
half  for  breakfast,  and  regularly  at  eleven  took  his  morning's 
circuit  on  horseback  at  a  foot's-pace,  for  his  infirmity  would 
not  admit  of  any  strong  gestation  ;  he  had  an  old  groom, 
wlio  had  grown  grey  in  his  service,  that  was  his  constant 
pilot  upon  these  excursions,  and  his  general  custom  was  to 
make  the  tour  of  his  cottages  to  reconnoitre  the  condition 
they  were  in,  whether  their  roofs  were  in  repair,  their  win- 
dows whole,  and  the  gardens^vell  cropped  and  neatly  kept ; 


324  MEMOIRS  OF 

all  this  it  was  their  interest  to  be  attentive  to,  for  he  bougfil 
the  produce  of  their  fruit-trees,  and  I  have  heard  him  sajf 
with  great  satisfaction  that  he  has  paid  thirty  shillings  in  a 
season  for  strawberries  only  to  a  poor  cottager,  who  paid  him 
one  shilling  annual  rent  for  his  tenement  and  garden  ;  this 
was  the  constant  rate,  at  which  he  let  them  to  his  labourers, 
and  he  made  them  pay  it  to  his  steward  at  his  yearly  audit, 
that  they  might  feel  themselves  in  the  class  of  regular  ten- 
ants, and  sit  down  at  table  to  the  good  cheer  provided  for 
them  on  the  audit-day.  He  never  rode  out  without  prepar- 
ing himself  with  a  store  of  six-pences  in  his  waistcoat'pock^ 
for  the  children  of  the  poor,  who  opened  gates  and  drew  out 
sliding  bars  for  him  in  his  passing  through  the  enclosures  ^ 
these  barriers  were  well  watched,  and  there  was  rarely  any 
employment  for  a  servant ;  but  these  six-pences  were  nol 
indiscriminately  bestowed,  for  as  he  kept  a  charity  schod! 
upon  his  own  endowment,  he  knew  to  whom  he  gave  tliem 
and  generally  held  a  short  parley  with  the  gate-opener  as  he 
'paid  his  toll  for  passing.  Upon  the  very  first  report  of  ilH 
ness  or  accident  relief  was  instantly  sent,  and  they  were  putj 
upon  the  sick  list,  regularly  visited,  and  constantly  sup 
plied  with  the  best  medicine  administered  upon  the  bes 
advice;  if  the  poor  man  lost  his  cow  or  his  pig  or  his  poultry 
the  loss  was  never  made  up  in  money,  but  in  stock.  I 
was  his  CMstom  to  buy  the  cast-off  liveries  of  his  own  ser 
vants  as  constantly  as  the  day  of  clothing  came  about,  an< 
these  he  distributed  to  the  old  and  worn-out  labourers,  wh< 
turned  out  daily  on  the  lawn  and  paddock  in  the  Sack^ll^ 
livery  to  pick  up  bo'igh*  and  sweep  up  leaves,  and  irl  shot 
do  just  as  much  work  &s  served  to  keep  them  wholesome  am 
alive. 

To  his  religious  duties  ibis  good  man  was  not  only  regu 
larly  but  respectfully  attentive  :  on  the  Sunday  morning  h< 
appeared  in  gala,  as  if  he  waii  dressed  for  a  drawing  room 
he  marched  out  his  whole  family  in  grand  cavalcade  to  hi 
parish  church,  leaving  only  a  centinel  to  watch  the  fires  ai 
home,  and  miount  guard  upon  the  spits.     His  deportment 
in  the  house  of  prayer  was  exemplary,  and  more  in  charac- 
ter of  times  past  than  of  time  present  :  he  had  a  way  of 
standing  up  in  sermon-time  for  the  purpose  of  reviewing  the 
congregation,  and  awing  the  idlers  into  decorum,  that  never 
failed  to  remind  me  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  at  church  : 
sometimes,  when  he  has  been  struck  with  passages  ia  the 


illCHARD  CUMBERLAND.  325 

discourse,  which  he  wished  to  point  out  to  the  audience  as 
rules  for  moral  practice  worthy  to  be  noticed,  he  would 
mark  his  approbation  of  them  with  such  cheering  nods  and 
signals  of  assent  to  the  preacher,  as  were  often  more  than 
my  muscles  could  withstand  ;  but  when  to  the  total  over- 
throw of  all  gravity,  in  his  zeal  to  encourage  tlie  efforts  of  a 
very  young  declaimer  in  the  pulpit,  I  beard  him  cry  out  to 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Henry  Eatoff  in  the  middle  of  !  is  sermon 
~"  Well  done,  Harry  !"  It  w\\s  irresistible  ;  suppression 
was  out  of  my  power  :  what  made  it  more  intolercibly  comic 
;was,  the  unmoved  sincerity  of  his  manner,  aixl  his  surprise 
to  find  th.at  any  thing  had  passed,  that  could  provoke  a  laugh 
so  out  of  time  and  place.  He  had  nursed  up  with  no  small 
care  and  cost  in  each  df  his  parish  ciiurches  a  corps  of  rustic 
psalm-singersj  to  whose  performances  he  paid  the  greatest 
attention,  rising  up,  and  with  his  eyes  directed  to  the  sing- 
ing gallery,  marking  time,  v/hich  v/as  not  always  rigidly 
adhered  to,  and  once,  when  his  ear,  which  was  very  cor- 
rect, had  been  tortured  by  a  tone  most  glaringly  discordant, 
he  set  his  mark  upon  the  culprit  by  calling  out  to  him  by 
name,  and  loudly  saying,  "-  Out  of  tune,  Tom  Baker — !" 
Now  this  faulty  musician  Tom  Baker  happened  to  be  his 
lordship's  butcher,  but  then  in  order  to  set  names  and  trades 
upon  a  par,  Tom  Butcher  was  his  lordship's  baker  ;  which 
Iobser\'ed  to  him  was  much  such  a  reconcilement  of  cross 
partners  as  my  illustrious  friend  George  Faulkner  hit  upon, 
when  in  his  Dublin  Journal  he  printed — "  Erratum  in  our 
last — For  His  Grace  the  Duchess  of  Dorset  I'cad  Her  Grace 
the  Duke  of  Dorset — " 

I  relate  these  little  anecdotes  of  a  man  whose  character 
had  nothing  little  in  it,  that  I  may  show  him  to  my  readers  in 
his  private  scenes,  and  be  as  far  as  I  am  able  the  intimate 
and  true  transcriber  of  his  heart.  While  the  marriage-set- 
tlement of  his  eldest  daughter  was  in  preparation,  he  Scdd 
to  the  noble  person  then  in  treaty  for  her — '*  I  am  perfectly 
assured,  that  you  have  correctly  given  in  a  statement  of 
your  affairs,  as  you  in  honour  and  in  conscience  religiously 
believe  them  to  be  ;  but  I  am  much  afraid  they  have  been 
estimated  to  you  for  better  than  they  really  are,  and  you 
must  allow  me  therefore  to  apprise  you,  that  I  shall  propose 
an  alteration  in  my  daughter's  fortune,  more  proportioned 
to  what  I  now  conceive  to  be  the  real  valuation  of  your  lord- 
ship's propertv — "  To  this,  when  the  generous  and  disiu- 
2    D 


326  MEMOIRS  OF 

tercsted  suitor  expressed  his  ready  acquiescence,  my  friend  j 
replied  (I  had  the  anecdote  from  his  own  mouth)  "  I  peis 
cei\  e  your  lordship  understands  me,  as  proposing  a  reduc* 
lion  from  my  daughter's  portion  ;  not   so,   my  lord  :  myJ 
purpose  is  to  double  it,  that  I  may  have  the  gratification  of  j 
taipplying  those  deficiencies  in  the  statement,  which  I  took! 
the  liberty  of  noticing,  and  which,  as  you  were  not  awarej 
of  them,  might  else  have  disappointed  and  perhaps  misled! 
you — "     When  he  imparted  this  circumstance  to  me  in  the 
v/ords,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  but  correctly  in  the 
spirit  of  those   words,  he  said  to  me — ''  I  hope  you  don't 
suppose  I  would  have  done  this  for  my  eldest  daughter,  if  I 
had  not  assured  myself  of  my  ability  to  do  the  same  for  th6 
other  too — " 

It  was  in  the  year  1785,  whilst  he  was  at  Stoneland,  that 
those  symptoms  first  appeared,  which  gradually  disclosed 
such  evidences  of  debility,  as  could  not  be  concealed,  and 
shewed  to  demonstration,  that  the  hand  of  death  v/as  even 
then  upon  him.  He  had  prepared  himself  with  an  opinion 
deliberately  formed  upon  the  matter  of  the  Irish  Proposi- 
tioriS,  and  vvhen  that  great  question  was  appointed  to  come 
on  for  discussion  in  the  House  of  Lords,  he  thought  him-; 
j^eif  bound  in  honour  and  duty  to  attend  in  his  place  Hfej 
then  for  the  first  time  confessed  himself  to  be  unfit  for  the 
attempt,  and  plainly  declared  he  believed  it  would  be  his 
death.  He  paused  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  in  hesitation 
how  to  decide,  and  the  air  of  his  countenance  was  impres- 
sed with  melancholy  :  we  were  standing  under  the  great 
spreading  tree,  that  shelters  the  back-entrance  to  the  house  ; 
the  day  was  hot  ;  he  had  dismounted  heavily  from  his  horse  ; 
we  were  alone,  and  it  was  plain  that  exercise,  though  gen- 
tle, had  increased  his  languor  ;  he  was  oppressed  both  in 
body  and  spirit ;  he  did  not  attempt  to  disguise  it,  for  he 
could  no  longer  counterfeit :  he  sate  down  upon  the  bench 
at  the  tree-foot,  and  composing  his  countenance,  as  if  he 
wished  to  have  forced  a  smile  upon  it,  had  i;is  suffering  giv- 
en him  leave — "  I  know,  said  he,  as  well  as  you  can  tell  me, 
what  you  think  of  me  just  now,  and  that  you  are  convinced 
if  I  go  to  town  upon  this  Irish  business,  I  go  to  my  death  ; 
but  I  also  know  you  are  at  heart  not  against  my  undertaking 
it,  for  I  have  one  convincing  proof  for  ever  present  to  me, 
how  much  more  you  consult  my  honour  tnan  my  safety  : 
And  after  all  what  do  1  sacrifice,  if  with  the  sentence  of  ine- 


mCHARD  CUMBERLAND.  327 

vitable  death  in  iny  hand,  I  only  lop  oiT  a  few  restless  hours, 
and  in  the  execution  of  my  duty  meet  the  stroke  r  In  one 
word  I  tell  you  I  shall  go  :  we  will  not  have  another  sylla- 
ble upon  the  subject  ;  don't  advise  it,  lest  you  should  repent 
of  it,  v/hen  it  has  killed  me  ;  and  do  not  oppose  it,  because  it 
would  not  be  your  true  opinion,  and  if  it  were,  I  would  not 
follow  it.—" 

It  was  in  that  same  day  after  dinner,  as  I  well  remember, 
the  evening  being  most  serene  and  lovely,  we  seated  our- 
selves in  the  chairs,  that  v>^ere  placed  out  upon  the  garden 
grass-plat,  which  looks  towards  Crowbcrry  and  the  forest. 
bur  conversation  led  us  to  the  affair  of  Minden  ;  my  friend 
most  evidently  courted  the  discussion  :  I  told  him  1  had  di- 
ligently attended  the  whole  process  of  the  trial,  and  ihvl  I 
had  detailed  it  to  Mr.  Doddington  :  I  had  consequently  a 
pretty  correct  remembrance  of  the  leading  circumstances 
as  they  came  out  upon  the  evidence.  But  I  observed  to 
him  that  it  was  not  upon  the  questions  and  proceedings  agi- 
tated at  that  court,  that  I  could  perfect  my  opinion  of  the 
case  ;  there  must  be  probably  a  chain  of  leading  causes, 
which  though  they  could  not  make  a  part  of  his  defence  in 
public  court,  might  if  developed,  throw  such  lights  on  the 
respective  conduct  of  the  parties,  as  Vv  ould  have  led  to  con- 
clusions different  from  those  which  stood  upon   the  record. 

To  this  he  answered  that  my  remark  was  just :  tnere 
were  certain  circumstances  antecedent  to  the  action,  that 
should  be  taken  into  consideration,  and  there  were  certain 
forbearances,  posterior  to  the  trial,  that  should  be  accounted 
for.  The  time  was  come,  when  he  could  have  no  tempta- 
tion to  disguise  and  violate  the  truth,  and  a  much  more  aw- 
ful trial  was  now  close  at  hand,  where  he  must  suffer  for  it. 
if  he  did.  He  would  talk  plainly,  temperately  and  briefly  to 
me,  as  his  manner  was,  provided  I  would  promise  him  to 
deal  sincerely,  and  not  spare  to  press  him  on  such  points,  as 
stuck  with  me  for  want  of  explanation.  This  being  premis- 
ed, he  entered  upon  a  detail,  which  unless  I  could  give,  as 
taken  down  from  his  lips,  without  the  variation  of  a  word,  so 
sacred  do  I  hold  the  reputation  of  the  dead  entrusted  to  me 
and  the  feelings  of  the  living,  whom  any|  error  of  nine 
might  wound,  that  I  shall  forbear  to  speak  of  it  except  in 
general  terms.  He  appeared  to  me  throughout  his  whole 
discourse  like  a  man,  who  had  perfectly  dismissed  his  pas- 
sions J  his  colour  never  changed,  his  features  never  indicated 


V^Q  MEMOIRS  OF 

embarrassment,  his  voice  was  never  elevated,  and  being  re- 
lieved at  tirnes  by  my  questions  and  remarks,  he  appeared 
to  speak  without  pain,  and  in  the  event  his  mind  seemed 
lightened  by  the  discharge.  When  I  compare  what  he  said4 
to  me  in  his  last  moments,  (not  two  hours  before  he  expir-1 
ed)  with  what  he  stated  at  this  conference,  if  I  did  not  from 
my  heart  and  upon  the  most  entire  conviction  of  my  reason 
and  understanding,  solemnly  acquit  that  injured  man,  (now 
gone  to  his  account)  of  the  opprobrious  and  false  imputa- 
tions, deposed  against  him  at  his  trial,  I  must  be  either  brut- 
ally ignorant,  or  willfully  obstinate  against  the  truth. 
.  At  the  battle  of  Fontenoy,  at  the  head  of  his  brave  regi- 
ment, in  the  front  of  danger  and  the  heat  of  action,  he  receiv- 
ed a  bullet  in  his  breast,  and  being  taken  off  the  field  by  his 
grenadiers,  was  carried  into  a  tent  belonging  to  the  equipage 
of  the  French  King,  and  there  laid  upon  a  table,  whilst  the 
surgeon  dressed  his  wound  ;  so  far  had  that  glorious  column 
penetrated  in  their  advance  towards  victory,  unfortunately 
snatched  from  them.  Let  us  contemplate  the  same  man, 
commanding  the  British  cavalry  in  the  battle  of  Minden,  no 
longer  in  the  front  of  danger  and  in  the  heat  of  action,  no 
longer  in  the  pursuit  of  victory,  for  that  was  gained,  and  can 
we  think  with  his  unjust  defamer,  that  such  a  man  would 
tremble  at  a  flying  foe  ?  It  is  a  supposition  against  nature,  a 
charge  that  cannot  stand,  an  imputation  that  confutes  itself. 

Perhaps  I  am  repeating  things  that  I  have  said  in  my  ac- 
count of  him,  published  after  his  death,  hui  I  have  no  means 
of  referring  to  that  pamphlet,  and  have  been  for  some  time 
writing  at  Ramsgate,  where  I  have  not  a  single  book  to 
turn  to,  and  very  few  papers  and  minutes  of  transactions  to 
refresh  my  memory. 

Lord  Sackville  attended  parliament,  as  he  said  he  would, 
and  returned,  as  he  predicted,  a  dying  man.  He  allowed  me 
to  call  in  Sir  Francis  Millman,  then  practising  at  Tunbridge 
Wells  :  all  medical  assistance  was  in  vain  ;  the  saponaceous 
medicines,  that  had  given  him  intervals  of  ease,  and  probably 
iTiany  years  of  existence,  had  now  lost  their  efficacy,  or  by 
their  efficacy  worn  their  conductors  out.  He  wished  to  take 
his  last  leave  of  the  Earl  of  Mansfield,  then  at  Tunbridge 
Wells  ;  I  signified  this  to  the  earl,  and  accompanied  him  in 
his  chaise  to  Stoneland ;  I  was  present  at  their  interview. 
Lord  Sackville,  just  dismounted  from  his  horse,  came  into 
the  room,  where  we  had  waited  a  very  few  minutes,  and 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  329 

staggered  as  he  advanced  to  reach  his  hand  to  his  respecta- 
ble visitor  ;  he  drew  his  breath  with  palpitating  quickness, 
and  if  I  remember  rightly  never  rode  again  ;  there  was  u 
death-like  character  in  his  countenance,  that  visibly  affected 
and  disturbed  Lord  Mansfield  in  a  manner  that  I  did  not 
quite  expect,  for  it  had  more  of  horror  it,  tlian  a  firm  man 
ought  to  have  shewn,  and  less  perhaps  of  other  feelings  than 
a  friend,  invited  to  a  meeting  of  that  nature,  must  have  dis- 
covered, had  he  not  hQQ^n  frightened  from  his  prof irietij . 

As  soon  as  Lord  Sackville  had  recovered  his  breath,  his 
visitor  remaining  silent,  he  began  by  apologising  for  the  trou- 
ble he  had  given  him,  and  for  the  unpleasant  spectacle  he  was 
conscious  of  exhibiting  to  him  in  the  condition  he  was  now 
reduced  to  ;  "  but  my  good  lord,  he  said,  though  I  ought  not 
to  have  imposed  upon  you  the  painful  ceremony  of  paying 
a  last  visit  to  a  dying  man,  yet  so  great  was  my  anxiety  to 
return  you  my  unfeigned  thanks  for  all  your  goodness  to 
me,  all  the  kind  protection  you  have  shewn  me  through  the 
course  of  my  unprosperous  life,  that  I  could  not  know  you 
was  so  near  me,  and  not  wish  to  assure  you  of  the  invariable 
respect  I  have  entertained  for  your  character,  and  now  in 
the  most  serious  m.anner  to  solicit  your  forgiveness,  if  ever  in 
the  fluctuations  of  politics  or  the  heats  of  party,  I  have  appear- 
ed in  your  eyes  at  any  moment  of  my  life  unjust  to  your 
great  merits,  or  forg-etful  of  your  many  favours." 

When  I  record  this  speech,  I  give  it  to  the  reader  as  cor- 
rect ;  I  do  not  trust  to  memory  at  this  distance  ;  I  transcribe 
it :  I  scorn  the  paltry  trick  of  writing  speeches  for  any  man, 
whose  name  is  in  these  Memoirs,  or  for  myself,  in  whose 
name  these  Memoirs  shall  go  forth  respectable  at  least  for 
their  veracity  ;  for  I  certainly  cannot  wish  to  present  my- 
self to  the  world  in  two  such  opposite  and  incoherent  cha- 
racters as  the  writer  of  my  own  history,  and  the  hero  of  a 
fiction. 

Lord  Mansfield  made  a  reply  perfectly  becoming  and 
highly  satisfactory :  he  was  far  on  in  years,  and  not  in  ScUi- 
guine  health  or  a  strong  state  of  nerves  ;  there  was  no  im- 
mediate reason  to  continue  the  discourse  ;  Lord  Sackville 
did  not  press  for  it ;  his  visitor  departed,  and  I  staid  with 
him.  He  made  no  other  observation  upon  what  had  passed 
than  that  it  v/as  extremely  obliging  in  Lord  Mansfield,  and 
Ihen  turned  to  other  subjects. 

In  him  the  vital  principle  was  strong,  and  nature,  which 
2  D  2 


330  MEMOIRS  OF  ' 

resisted  dissolution,  maintained  at  every  out-post,  that  de- 
fended life,  a  lingering  agonizing  struggle.  Through  every 
stage  of  varied  misery — extremes  by  change  more  fierce'-*^ 
iiis  fortitude  remained  unshaken,  his  senses  perfect,  and  his 
mind  never  died,  till  the  last  pulse  was  spent,  and  his  heart ; 
stopped  for  ever. 

In  this  period  intelligence  arrived  of  the  Propositions  be- 
ing withdrawn  in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons  :  he  had  let- 
ters on  this  subject  from  several  correspondents,  and  one 
from  Lord  Sydney,  none  of  which  we  thought  fit  then  to  give 
him.  I  told  him  in  as  few  words  and  as  clearly  as  I  could 
how  the  business  passed,  but  requested  he  would  simply 
hear  it,  and  not  argue  upon  it — "  I  am  not  sorry,  he  said, 
tfrat  it  has  so  happened.  You  can  witness  that  my  predic- 
tions are  verified  :  something  might  now  be  set  on  foot  for 
the  benefit  of  both  countries.  I  wish  I  could  live  long  enough 
to  give  my  opinion  in  my  place  ;  I  have  formed  my  thoughts 
upon  it ;  but  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  do  any  good  ;  I  hope  it 
will  fall  into  abler  hands,  and  you  forbid  me  to  argue.  I 
see  you  are  angry  with  me  for  talking,  and  indeed  it  gives 
me  pain.  I  have  nothing  to  do  in  this  life,  but  to  obey  and 
be  t  ilent — "  From  that  moment  he  never  spoke  a  word  up- 
on the  subject. 

As  I  I  knew  he  had  been  some  time  meditating  on  his 
preparations  to  receive  the  sacrament,  and  death  seemed 
Dear  at  hand,  I  reminded  him  of  it ;  he  declared  himself 
ready  and  at  peace  with  all  mankind  ;  in  one  instance  only 
he  confessed  it  cost  him  a  hard  struggle.  What  that  instance 
was  he  needed  not  to  explain  to  me,  nor  am  I  careful  to  ex»- 
plain  to  any.  I  trust  according  to  the  infirmity  of  man's  na- 
ture he  is  rather  to  be  honoured  for  having  finally  extinguish- 
ed his  resentment,  than  condemned  for  having  fostered  it 
too  long.  A^ Christian  Saint  would  have  done  it  sooner; 
how  many  men  would  not  have  done  it  ever  ! 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Sackville  Bayle,  his  worthy  parish 
priest  and  ever  faithful  friend,  administered  the  solemn  office 
of  tlie  sacraiTient  to  him,  reading  at  his  request  the  prayers 
for  a  communicant  at  the  point  of  death.  He  had  ordered 
all  his  bed-curtains  to  be  opened  and  the  sashes  thrown  up, 
th?A  h.e  might  have  air  and  space  to  assist  him  in  his  efforts  : 
what  they  were,  with  what  devotion  he  joined  in  those  solemn 
prayers,  that  warn  the  parting  spirit  to  dismiss  all  hopes  that 
centre  in  this  world,  that  reverend  friend  can  witness ;  I 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  «3I 

also  was  a  witness  and  a  partaker ;  none  else  was  present  at 
that  holy  ceremony. 

A  short  time  before  he  expired  I  came  by  his  desire  to 
his  bedside,  when  taking  my  hand  and  pressing  it  between 
his,  he  addressed  me  for  the  last  time  in  the  following  words 
•— ''  You  see  me  now  in  those  moments,  when  no  disguise 
will  serve,  and  when  the  spirit  of  a  man  must  be  proved, 
I  have  a  mind  perfectly  resigned,  and  at  peace  within  itself. 
I  have  done  with  this  world,  and  what  I  have  done  in  it,  I 
have  done  for  the  best ;  I  hope  and  trust  I  am  prepared  for 
the  next.  Tell  not  me  of  all  that  passes  in  health  and  pride 
of  heart ;  these  are  the  moments  in  which  a  man  must  be 
searched,  and  remember  that  I  die,  as  you  see  me,  with  a 
tranquil  conscience  and  content — "  I  have  reason  to  know 
I  am  correct  in  these  expressions,  because  I  transcribe  them 
word  for  word  from  a  copy  of  my  letter  to  the  Honourable 
^^eorge  Darner,  now  Earl  of  Dorchester,  written  a  few 
days  after  his  uncle  Lord  Sackville's  death,  and  dated  Sep- 
tember ISth,   1785. 

To  that  excellent  and  truly  noble  p-erson  I  recommend  and 
devote  this  short  but  faithful  sketch  of  his  relation's  character^ 
conscious  how  highly  he  deserved.^  and  how  entirely  he  possess* 
edj  the  love  and  the  esteem  of  the  deceased. 

It  may  to  some  appear  strange  that  I  do  not  rather  ad- 
dress myself  to  the  present  lord,  the  eldest  son  of  his  father 
and  the  inheritor  of  his  title.  He,  who  knows  he  has  no  plea 
for  slighting  the  friend,  who  has  loved  him,  knows  that  he 
has  put  it  out  of  my  power,  and  that  I  must  be  of  all  men 
most  insensible,  if  I  did  not  poignantly  feel  and  feelingly  la- 
ment his  unmerited  neglect  of  me.  If  the  foregoing  pages 
ever  meet  his  eyes,  I  hope  the  record  of  his  father's  virtues 
will  inspii^e  him  to  imitate  his  father's  example.         * 

I  put  in  my  plea  for  pardon  in  the  very  first  page  of  my 
book  with  respect  to  errors  in  the  dates  of  my  disorderly 
productions.  I  should  have  mentioned  my  comedy  of  The 
Imfiostor^  and  the  publication  of  my  novel  of  j^rundel in  two 
volumes,  which  I  hastily  put  together  whilst  I  was  passing 
a  few  idle  weeks  at  Brighthelmstone,  where  I  had  no  books 
but  such  as  a  circulating  novel-shop  afforded.  I  dispatched 
that  work  so  rapidly,  sending  it  to  the  press  by  parcels,  of 


332  MEMOIRS  OF 

which  my  first  copy  was  the  only  one,  that  I  really  do  not  \ 
remember  what  moved  me  to  the  undertaking,  nor  how  i^ 
came  to  pass  that  the  cacoethes  scmbendi  nugiis  first  got  hold 
of  me.  Be  this  as  it  may,  I  am  not  about  to  afi*ect  a  modesn 
ty^  which  I  do  not  feel,  or  to  seek  a  shelter  from  the  sm  d 
writing  ill,  by  acknowledging  the  folly  of  writing  rapidly^ 
for  I  believe  that  Arundel  has  entertained  as  many  readers^ 
and  gained  as  good  a  character  in  the  world  as  most  heroe^ 
of  his  description,  not  excepting  the  immaculate  Sir  Charlesr 
Grandison,  in  whose  company  I  have  never  found  myself 
without  being  puzzled  to  decide,  whether  I  am  most  edified 
by  his  morality,  or  disgusted  by  his  pedantry.  Arundel 
perhaps,  of  all  the  children  which  my  brain  has  given  birth 
to,  had  the  least  care  and  pains  bestowed  upon  his  educa-l 
lion,  yet  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  has  been  received  as  such 
in  the  first  circles,  for  though  he  takes  the  wrong  side  of  the 
question  in  his  argument  with  Moitlake  upon  duelling,  yeU 
there  is  hardly  one  to  be  found,  who  thinks  with  Mortlake, 
but  would  be  shamed  out  of  Society,  if  he  did  not  act  with 
Arundel.  In  the  character  of  the  Countess  of  G.  I  confess 
I  have  set  virtue  upon  ice  ;  she  slips,  but  does  not  fall ;  and 
if  I  have  endov/ed  the  young  ladles  with  a  degree  of  sensi- 
bility, that  might  have  exposed  them  to  danger,  I  flatter 
myself  I  have  taken  the  proper  means  of  rescuing  them 
from  it  by  marrying  them  respectively  to  the  men  of  their 
hearts. 

The  success  however,  which  by  this  novel  I  obtained 
without  labour,  determined  me  to  write  a  second,  on  which 
I  was  resolved  to  betow  my  utmost  care  and  diligence.  In 
this  temper  of  mind  I  began  to  form  to  myself  in  idea  what  I 
conceived  should  be  the  model  of  a  perfect  novel  ;  having 
after  much  deliberation  settled  and  adjusted  this  to  the  best 
of  my  judgment,  I  decided  for  the  novel  in  detail ;  rejecting 
the  epistolary  process,  which  I  had  pursued  in  Arundel,  and 
also  that,  in  which  the  hero  speaks  throughout,  and  is  his 
own  biographer  ;  though  in  putting  both  these  processes 
aside  I  felt  much  more  hesitation  in  the  last-mentioned  case 
than  in  the  first. 

Having  taken  Fielding's  admirable  novel  of  Tom  Jones 
as  my  pattern  in  point  of  detail,  I  resolved  to  copy  it  also  in 
its  distribution  into  chapters  and  books,  and  to  prefix  prefa- 
tory numbers  to  the  latter,  to  the  composition  of  which  I 
addressed  my  best  attention.     In  some  of  these  I  have  taken 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  333^ 

occasion  to  submit  those  rules  for  the  construction  of  a  no- 
vel, which  I  flattered  myself  mi^ht  be  of  use  to  future  wri- 
ters in  that  line,  less  experienced  than  myself.  How  far  I 
have  succeeded  is  not  for  me  to  say,  but  if  I  have  failed,  I 
am  without  excuse,  for  I  had  this  work  in  hand  two  full 
years,  and  gave  more  polish  and  correction  to  the  style,  than 
ever  I  bestowed  upon  any  of  my  published  works  before. 
The  following  few  rules  which  I  laid  down  for  my  own  guid- 
ance, and  strictly  observed,  1  still  persuade  myself  are  such 
as  ought  to  be  observed  by  others. 

I  would  have  the  story  carried  on  in  a  regular  uninter- 
rupted progression  of  events,  without  those  dull  recitals,  that 
call  the 'attention  off  from  what  is  going  on,  and  compel  it 
to  look  back,  perhaps  in  the  very  crisis  of  curiosity,  to  cir- 
cumstances antecedent  to,  and  not  always  materially  con- 
nected with,  the  history  in  hand.  I  am  decidedly  adverse 
to  episodes  and  stories  within  stories,  like  that  of  the  Man 
of  the  Hill  in  Tom  Jones,  and  in  general  all  expedients  of 
procrastination,  which  come  under  the  description  of  mere 
tricks  to  torture  curiosity,  are  in  my  opinion  to  be  very  spa- 
ringly resorted  to,  if  not  totally  avoided.  Casualties  and 
broken-bones,  and  faintings  and  high  fevers  with  ramblings 
of  delirium  and  rhapsodies  of  nonsense  are  perfectly  con- 
temptible. I  think  descriptive  writing,  properly  so  distin- 
guished, is  very  apt  to  describe  nothing,  and  that  landscapes 
upon  paper  leave  no  picture  in  the  mind,  and  only  load  the 
page  with  daubings,  that  in  the  author's  fancy  may  be  sketch- 
es after  nature,  but  to  the  reader's  eye  offer  nothing  but  con- 
fusion. A  novel,  professing  itself  to  be  the  delineation  of 
men  and  women  as  they  are  in  nature,  should  in  general 
confine  itself  to  the  relation  of  things  probable,  and  though 
in  skilful  hands  it  may  be  made  to  touch  upon  things  barely 
possible,  the  seldomer  it  risques  those  experiments,  the 
better  opinion  I  should  form  of  the  contriver's  conduct :  I 
do  not  think  quotations  ornament  it,  and  poetry  must  be  ex- 
tremely good  before  I  can  allow  it  is  of  any  use  to  it.  In 
short  there  should  be  authorities  in  nature  for  every  thing 
that  is  introduced,  and  the  only  case  I  can  recollect  in  which 
the  creator  of  the  fictitious  man  may  and  ought  to  differ 
from  the  biographer  of  the  real  man,  is,  that  the  former  is 
bound  to  deal  out  his  rewards  to  the  virtuous  and  punish- 
ments to  the  vicious,  whilst  the  latter  ha.s  no  choice  but  to 


034  MEMOIRS  OF 

adhere  to  the  truth  of  facts,  and  leave  his  hero  neither  worse 
nor  better  than  he  found  him. 

Monsters  of  cruelty  and  crime,  Monks  and  Zelucos,  hor-^ 
hors  and  thunderings  and  ghosts  are  creatures  of  another  re-J 
gion,  tools  appropriated  to  another  trade,  and  are  only  to^ 
be  handled  by  dealers  in  old  castles  and  manufactures  of* 
romances. 

As  the  tragic  drama  may  be  not  improperly  described  as' 
an  epic  poem  of  compressed  action^  so  I  think  we  may  call  the 
novel  a  dilated  comedy  ;  though  Henry  Fielding,  who  was  pre- 
eminently happy  in  the  one,  was  not  equally  so  in  the  other  : 
non  o?7inia  possumus  omnes.  If  the  readers  of  Henry  have 
agreed  with  me  in  the  principles  laid  down  in  those  prefa- 
tory chapters,  and  here  again  briefly  touched  upon,  I  flatter 
myself  they  found  a  novel  conducted  throughout  upon  those 
very  principles,  and  which  in  no  one  instance  does  a  violence 
to  nature,  or  resorts  to  forced  and  improbable  expedients  to 
excite  surprise  ;  I  flatter  myself  they  found  a  story  regularly 
progressive  without  any  of  those  retrogradations  or  coun- 
ter-marches, which  break  the  line,  and  discompose  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  fable  :  I  hope  they  found  me  duly  careful 
to  keep  the  principal  characters  in  sight,  and  above  all  if  I 
devoted  myself  con  amore  to  the  delineation  of  Zachary  Caw* 
c?/e,  and  in  a  more  particular  manner  to  the  best  services  I 
could  perform  for  the  good  Ezekiel  Da%v^  I  warmly  hope  they 
did  not  think  my  partiality  quite  misapplied,  or  my  labour  of 
love  entirely  thrown  away. 

If  in  my  zeal  to  exhibit  virtue  triumphant  over  the  most 
tempting  allurements,  I  have  painted  those  allurements  in 
too  vivid  colours  I  am  sorry,  and  ask  pardon  of  all  those,  who 
thought  the  moral  did  not  heal  the  mischief. 

If  my  critics  have  not  been  too  candid  I  am  encouraged  to 
believe,  that  in  these  volumes  of  Henry^  and  in  those  of 
The  Observer^  I  have  succeeded  in  what  I  laboured  to  efl'ect 
with  all  my  care — a  simple,  clear,  harmonious  style  ;  which, 
taken  as  a  model,  may  be  followed  without  leading  the  novi- 
tiate either  into  turgiciity  or  obscurity,  holding  a  middle  tone 
of  period,  neither  swelling  into  high-flown  metaphor,  nor 
sinking  into  inelegant  and  unclassical  rusticity.  Whether  or 
not  I  have  succeeded,  I  certainly  have  attempted,  to  reform 
and  purify  my  native  language  from  certain  false  pedantic 
prevalances,  which  were  much  in  fashion,  when  I  first  be- 
came a  writer  5  1  dare  not  say  with  those,  whose  flattery 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  335 

might  mislead  me,  that  I  have  accomphshed  what  I  aimed 
at,  but  if  1  have  done  something*  towards  it,  1  may  say,  with 
Pliny— /^o-s'^em  an  aliqua  cura  nostri^  nescio.  JKos  certe 
mercmur  ut  sit  aliqua  ;  non  dicam  ingenio  ;  id  einm  aufierbum  ; 
scd  studio^  sed  labor e^  sedrevercntia  fiosterorum. 

The  mental  gratification  which  the  exercise  of  the  fancy  in 
the  act  of  composition  gives  me,  has,  (with  the  exception 
only  of  the  task  I  am  at  present  engaged  in)  ^ed  me  to  that  in- 
ordinate consumption  of  paper,  of  which  much  has  been 
profitless,  much  unseen,  and  very  much  of  that  which  has 
been  seen,  would  have  been  more  worthy  ccf  the  world,  had 
I  bestowed  more  blotting  upon  it  before  I  committed  it  to 
the  press  :  yet  I  am  now  about  to  mention  a  poem  not  the 
most  imperfect  of  my  various  productions,  of  which  the  first 
manuscript  copy  was  the  only  one,  and  that  perhaps  the 
fairest  I  had  ever  put  out  of  my  hands.  Heroic  verse  has 
been  always  more  fcimiiiar  to  me,  and  more  easy  in  point  of 
composition,  than  prose  :  my  thoughts  flovv^  more  freely  in 
metre,  and  I  can  oftentimes  fill  a  puge  with  less  labour  and 
less  time  in  verse  of  tnat  description,  than  it  costs  me  to 
adjust  and  harmonise  a  single  period  in  prose  to  my  entire 
satisfaction. 

The  work  I  now  allude  to  is  my  poem  of  Calvary^  and 
the  gratification,  of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  mixed  as 
I  trust  with  worthier  and  more  serious  motives,  led  me 
to  that  undertaking.  It  had  never  been  my  hard  lot  to  write, 
as  many  of  my  superiors  have  been  forced  to  do,  task-work 
for  a  bookseller,  it  was  therefore  my  custom,  as  it  is  with 
voluptuaries  of  another  description,  to  fly  from  one  pursuit 
to  another  for  the  greater  zest  which  change  and  contrast 
gave  to  my  intellectual  pleasures.  I  had  as  yet  done  nothing 
in  the  epic  way,  except  my  juvenile  attempt,  of  which  I 
have  given  an  extract,  and  I  applied  myself  to  the  compo- 
sition of  Calvary  with  uncommon  ardour  ;  I  began  it 
in  the  winter,  and,  rising  every  morning  some  hours  before 
day-light,  soon  dispatched  the  whole  poem  of  eight  books 
at  the  average  of  full  fifty  lines  in  a  day,  of  which  I  kept  a 
regular  account,  marking  each  day's  work  upon  my  manu- 
script. I  mention  tb.is,  because  it  is  a  fact  ;  but  I  am  not 
so  mistaken  as  to  suppose  that  any  author  can  be  entitled  to 
take  credit  to  himself  for  the  little  care  he  has  bestowed  upon 
his  com.positions. 

It  was  ;not  till  I  had  taken  up  Milton's  immortal  poem 


336  MEMOIRS  OF 

of  Paradise  Lost,  and  read  it  studiously,  and  completely 
through,  that  I  brought  the  plan  of  Calvary  to  a  consistency,; 
and  resolved  to  venture  on  the  attempt.  I  saw  such  aids  ia 
point  of  character,  incident  and  diction,  such  facilities  held 
out  by  tiie  sacred  historians,  as  encouraged  me  to  hope  I 
miglit  aspire  to  introduce  my  humble  Muse  upon  that  hal-- 
jowed  ground  without  profaning  it. 

As  for  the  difficulties,  which  by  the  nature  of  his  subjecl 
Milton  had  to  encounter,  I  perceved  them  to  be  such  as  no- 
thing but  tae  genius  of  Milton  could  surmount :  that  he 
has  failed  in  some  instances  cannot  be  denied,  but  it  is  matter 
of  wonder  and  admiration,  that  he  has  miscarried  in  so  few. 
The  noble  structure  he  has  contrived  to  raise  with  the  co- 
operation of  two  human  beings  only,  and  those  the  first  cre-« 
ated  of  the  human  race,  strikes  us  with  astonishment ;  hut 
at  the  same  time  it  forces  him  upon  such  frequent  flights  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  nature,  and  obliges  him  in  so  great  a  de- 
gree to  depend  upon  the  agency  of  supernatural  beings,  of 
whose  persons  we  have  no  prototype,  and  of  whose  opera- 
tions, offices  and  intellectual  powers  we  are  incompetent  to 
form  any  adequate  conception,  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
if  there  ure  parts  and  passages  in  that  divine  poem,  that  we 
either  pass  over  by  choice,  or  cannot  read  without  regret. 

Upon  a  single  text  in  scripture  he  has  described  a  Battle 
in  Heaven^  in  most  respects  tremendously  sublime,  in  oth- 
ers painfully  reminding  us  how  impossible  it  is  for  man's 
limited  imagination  to  find  weapons  for  immortal  spirits,  or 
conceive  an  army  of  rebellious  angels  employing  instruments 
of  human  invention  upon  the  vain  impossible  idea,  that 
their  material  artillery  could  shake  the  immaterial  throne  of 
the  One  Supreme  Being,  the  Almighty  Creator  and  Dispo- 
ser of  them  and  the  universe.  Accordingly  when  we  are  pre- 
sented with  the  description  of  Christ,  the  meek  Redeemer  of 
mankind,  going  fort  i  in  a  chariot  to  the  battle,  brilliant  al- 
though the  picture  is,  it  dazzels  and  we  start  from  it  revolt- 
ed by  the  blaze.  But  when  the'poet,  deeming  himself  com- 
petent to  find  words  for  the  Almighty,  contrives  a  confer- 
rence  between  the  First  and  Second  Persons  in  the  Trinity, 
we  are  compelled  to  say  with  Pope 

That  God  the  Father  turns  a  school-divine » 

i  must  entreat  my  readers  not  so  to  misconceive  my 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  337 

meaning  as  to  suppose  me  vain  enough  to  think,  that  by  no- 
ticing these  spots  in  Milton's  glorious  sun,  I  am  advancing 
my  dim  lamp  to  any  the  most  distant  competition  with  it. 
I  have  no  other  motive  for  mentioning  them  but  to  convince 
the  patrons  of  these  Memoirs,  that  I  did  not  attempt  the 
composition  of  a  sacred  epic,  where  he  must  for  ever  stand 
so  decidedly  pre-eminent,  till  by  comparing  the  facilities  of 
my  subject  with  the  amazing  difficulties  of  his,  I  had  found 
a  bow  proportioned  to  my  strength,  and  did  not  presume 
to  bend  it  till  I  was  certified  of  its  flexibility. 

It  could  not  possibly  be  overlooked  by  me,  that  in  taking 
the  Death  of  Christ  for  my  subject,  I  had  the  advantage  of 
dating  my  poem  at  a  point  of  time,  the  most  awful  in  the 
whole  history  of  the  world,  the  most  pregnant  with  sublime 
events,  and  the  most  fully  fraught  with  grand  and  interesting 
characters  ;  that  I  had  those  characters,  and  those  events, 
so  pointedly  delineated  and  so  impressively  described  by  the 
inspired  historians,  as  to  leave  little  else  for  me  to  do,  but 
to  restrain  invention,  and  religiously  to  follow  in  the  path, 
that  was  chalked  out  to  me.  Accordingly  I  trust  there  will 
be  found  very  little  of  the  audacity  of  fancy  in  the  composi* 
tion  of  Calvary^  and  few  sentiments  or  expressions  ascribed 
to  the  Saviour,  which  have  not  the  sanction  and  authority  of 
the  sacred  records.  When  he  descends  into  Hades  I  have 
endeavoured  to  avail  myself  of  what  has  been  revealed  to  us 
for  those  conjectural  descriptions,  and  I  hope  I  have  not  far 
outstepped  discretion,  or  heedlessly  indulged  a  wild  imagi- 
nation ;  for  though  I  venture  upon  untouched  ground,  pre- 
suming to  unfold  a  scene,  which  mystery  has  involved  in 
darkness,  yet  1  have  the  visions  of  the  Saint  at  Patmos  to 
hold  up  a  light  to  me,  and  assist  me  in  my  efforts  to  pervade 
futurity. 

My  first  publication  of  Calvary  in  quarto  had  so  languid  a 
sale,  that  it  left  me  with  the  inconvenient  loss  of  at  least  one 
Tiundred  pounds,  and  the  discouraging  conviction,  that  the 
public  did  not  concern  itself  about  the  poem,  or  the  poem- 
maker  ;  I  felt  at  the  same  time  a  proud  indignant  conscious- 
ness, that  it  claimed  a  better  treatment,  and  whilst  I  called 
to  mind  the  true  and  brotherly  devotion  I  had  ever  borne  to 
the  fame  of  my  contemporaries,  I  was  stung  by  their  neg- 
lect ;  and  having  laid  my  poem  on  the  death  of  my  Redeem- 
er at  the  feet  of  my  Sovereign,  Vv^hich,  for  aught  that  ever 
-reached  my  knowledge,  he  might,  or  might  not,  have  receiv- 

2    E 


338  MEMOIRS  OF 

ed  by  the  hand  of  his  librarian,  I  had  nothing  to  console  me 
but  the  reflection  that  there  ^v©u!d  perhaps  be  a  tribunal, 
that  would  deal  out  justice  to  me,  when  I  could  not  be  a 
gainer  by  it,  and  speak  favourably  of  my  performance,  when 
1  could  not  hear  their  praises. 

I  shall  now  take  leave  of  Calvary  after  acknov>iedging  my 
obligations  to  my  publishers  for  their  speculation  of  a  new 
edition,  and  also  to  the  purchasers  of  that  edition  for  their 
reconcilement  to  a  book,  which,  till  it  was  reduced  to  a 
more  portable  size,  they  were  little  disposed  to  take  away 
with  them. 

I  consider  Tristram  Shandy  as  the  most  eccentic  work  of 
my  time,  and  Junius  the  most  acrimonious ;  we  have  heard 
much  of  his  style  ;  I  have  just  been  readmg  him  over  with 
attention,  and  I  confess  I  can  see  but  little  to  admire.  The 
^'ling  to  wonder  at  is,  that  a  secret,  to  which  several  must 
have  been  privy,  has  been  so  strictly  kept ;  if  Sir  William 
Draper,  who  baffled  him  in  some  of  his  assertions,  had  kept 
bis  name  out  of  sight,  I  am  inclined  to  think  he  might  have 
held  up  the  cause  of  candour  with  success.  The  publisher 
of  Junius  I  am  told  was  deeply  guaranteed  ;  of  course,  al- 
though he  might  not  know  his  author,  he  must  have  known 
whereabouts  to  look  for  him.  I  never  heard  that  my  friend 
Lord  George  Germain  was  amongst  the  suspected  authors, 
till  by  way  of  jest  he  told  me  so  not  many  days  before  his 
death  :  I  did  not  v.  ant  him  to  disavow  it,  for  there  could  be 
no  occasion  to  disprove  an  absolute  impossibility.  The  man 
who  wrote  it,  had  a  savage  heart,  for  some  of  his  attacks  are 
execrable  ;  he  was  a  hypocrite,  for  he  disavows  private  mo- 
tives, and  makes  pretentions  to  a  patriotic  spirit.  I  can  per- 
fectly call  to  mind  the  general  effect  of  his  letters,  and  am 
of  opinion  that  his  malice  overshot  its  mark.  Let  the  ano- 
nymous defamer  be  as  successful  as  he  may,  it  is  but  an  un- 
eviable  triumph,  a  mean  and  cowardly  gratification,  which 
his  dread  of  a  discovery  forbids  him  to  avow. 

As  for  Tristrain  Shandy^  whose  many  plagiarisms  are 
now  detected,  his  w^ant  of  delicacy  is  unpardonable,  and  his 
tricks  have  too  much  of  frivolity  and  buffoonery  m  them  to 
pass  upon  the  reader ;  but  his  real  merit  lies  not  only  in  his 
general  conception  of  character,  but  in  the  address,  with 
which  he  marks  them  out  by  those  minute,  yet  striking 
touc!aes  of  his  pencil,  that  make  his  descriptions  pictures, 
and  his  pictures  life  :  in  the  pathetic  he  excels,  as  his  story 


RICHAUD  CUMBERLAND.  339 

of  Lefevre  witnesses,  but  he  seems  to  have  niistaken  his 
powers,  and  capriciously  to  have  misapplied  his  genius. 

I  conceive  there  is  not  to  be  found  in  all  tlie  wniings  of^ 
my  day,  perhaps  I  may  say  not  in  tlie  English  language,  so 
brilliant  a  cluster  of  fine  and  beautiful  passages  in  the  de- 
clamatory style,  as  we  are  presented  with  in  Edmund  Burke's 
inimitable  tract  upon  the  French  Revolution.  It  is  most 
highly  coloured  and  most  richly  ornamented,  but  there  is 
elegance  in  its  splendour,  and  dignity  in  its  magnificence. 
The  orator  demands  attention  in  a  loud  and  lofty  tone,  but 
his  voice  never  loses  its  melody,  nor  his  periods  their  sweet- 
ness. When  he  has  roused  us  with  the  thunder  of  his  elo- 
quence, he  can  at  once,  Timotheus-like,  chuse  a  melan- 
choly theme,  and  melt  us  into  pity  :  there  is  grace  in  his 
anger  ;  for  he  can  inveigh  without  vulgarity  ;  he  can  mod- 
ulate the  strongest  bursts  of  passion,  for  even  in  his  madness 
there  is  music. 

I  was  so  charmed  w^ith  the  style  and  matter  of  this  pam- 
phlet, that  I  could  not  withstand  the  pleasure  of  intruding 
upon  him  with  a  letter  of  thanks,  of  which  I  took  no  copy, 
but  fortunately  have  preserved  his  answer  to  it,  which  is  as 
follows—* 

"  Beconsfield,  November  13,   1790. 
"  Dear  Sir, 

"  I  was  yesterday  honoured  with  your  most  obliging 
letter.  You  may  be  assured,  that  nothing  could  be  more 
flattering  to  me  than  the  approbation  of  a  gentleman  so  dis- 
tinguished in  literature  as  you  are,  and  in  so  great  a  variety 
of  its  branches.  It  is  an  earnest  to  me  of  that  degree  of  tol- 
eration in  the  public  judgment,  which  may  give  my  reason- 
ings some  chance  of 'being  useful.  I  know,  however,  that  I 
am  indebted  to  your  politenes  and  your  good  nature  as  much 
as  to  your  opinion,  for  the  indulgent  manner,  in  which  you 
have  been  pleased  to  receive  my  endeavour.  Whether  I 
have  described  our  countrymen  properly,  time  is  to  shew  : 
I  hope  I  have,  but  at  any  rate  it  is  perhaps  the  best  way  to 
persuade  them  to  be  right  by  supposing  that  they  are  so. 
Great  bodies,  like  great  men,  must  be  instructed  in  the  way, 
in  which  they  will  be  best  pleased  to  receive  instruction  ; 
flattery  itself  may  be  converted  into  a  mode  of  counsel  :  lau- 
dando  admonere  ha^  not  always  been  the  most  unsuccessful 
method  of  advice.  In  this  case  moral  policy  requires  it, 
for  when  you  most  expose  the  practices  of  some  kinds  of 


340  MEMOIRS  OF 

men,  you  d.o  nothing  if  you  do  not  distinguish  them  fron 
others. 

"  Accept  once  more  my  best  acknowledgments  forthdl 
very  handsome  manner,  in  v/hich  you  have  been  pleased  to^ 
consider  my  pamphlet,  and  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  me 
with  the  most  perfect  respect, 

<*  Dear  Sir,  your  most  faithful 

*'  And  obliged  humble  servant, 
"  Edm.  Burke." 

Am  I,  or  am  I  not,  to  regret  that  this  fine  writer  devoted 
himself  so  professedly  to  politics  ?  I  conceive  there  must  be 
two  opinions  upon  this  question  amongst  his  contempora- 
ries, and  only  one  that  will  be  entertained  by  posterity. 
Those  who  heard  his  parliamentary  speeches  with  delight, 
will  not  easily  be  induced  to  wish  tiiat  he  had  spoken  less  ; 
whilst  those,  who  can  only  read  him,  vvill  naturally  regret 
that  he  had  not  written  mxore.  The  orator,  like  the  actor, 
lives  only  in  the  memory  of  his  hearers,  and  his  fame  must 
rest  upon  tradition  :  Mr.  Burke  in  parliament  enjoyed  the 
triumph  of  a  day,  but  Mr.  Burke  on  paper  would  have  been 
the  founder  of  his  own  immortality. 

Amongst  the  variety  of  branches,  to  which  Mr.  Burke  is 
pleased  so  flatteringly  to  allude,  and  which  certainly  are 
more  in  number  than  the  literary  annals  of  any  author  in  my 
recollection  can  exhibit,  I  reflect  with  satisfaction  that  I 
have  devoted  much  time  and  thought  to  serious  subjects, 
and  been  far  from  idle  or  luke-warm  in  the  service  of  reli- 
gion. I  have  written  at  different  times  as  many  sermons  as 
would  make  a  large  volume,  some  of  which  have  been  de* 
iivered  from  the  pulpits  :  1  have  rendered  into  English  me- 
tre fifty  of  the  psalms  of  David,  which  are  printed  by  Mr. 
Strange  of  Tunbridge  Wells,  and  upon  which  I  flatter  my- 
self I  have  not  in  vain  bestowed  my  best  attention.  I  have 
for  some  years  been  in  the  habit  of  composing  an  appropri- 
ate prayer  of  thanksgiving  for  the  last  day  in  the  year,  and 
of  supplication  for  the  first  day  in  the  succeeding  year.  I 
published  by  Messrs.  Laekington  and  Co.  a  religious  and  ar- 
gumentative tract,  entitled,  A  few  Plain  Reasons  for  believ- 
ing in  the  Evidences  of  the  Christian  Revelation;  and  this 
tract,  which  I  conceive  to  be  orthodox  in  all  its. points,  and 
unanswerably  demonstrative  as  a  confutation  of  all  the  false 
reasoners  according  to  the  new  philosophy,  I  presented  with 
all  due  defei'ence  to  the  Bishop  of  London,  who  was  pleased 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  341 

to  honour  me  with  a  very  gracious  acknowledgment  by  let- 
ter, and  likewise  to  the  late  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who 
was  not  pleased  to  acknowledge  it  in  any  way  whatever. 
But  I  had  no  particular  right  to  expect  it  :  all  regulars  are 
not  equally  candid  to  the  volunteer,  as  I  have  good  reason 
to  know. 

I  have  selected  several  passages  from  the  Old  Testament, 
and  turned  them  into  verse  :  they  are  either  totally  lost,  or 
hurried  out  of  sight  in  the  chaos  of  my  manuscripts  :  I  find 
one  only  amongst  the  few  loose  papers  I  have  with  me,  anil 
I  take  the  liberty  of  inserting  it : — 

"  Judges^   Chafiter  the  5  th. 

. "-  Hear,  all  earth's  crowned  monarchs,  hear  ! 
Princes  and  Judges,  to  m.y  song  give  ear  : 
To  Israel's  God  my  voice  I'll  raise, 
And  joyful  chaunt  Jehovah's  praise. 
Lord,  when  in  Edonl's  glorious  day 
Thou  wentest  fourth  in  bright  array, 
Earth  to  her  inmost  centre  shook. 
The  mountains  melted  at  thy  look, 
The  clouds  dropp'd  down  their  wat'ry  store,. 
Rent  with  the  thunder's  loud  tremendous  roar. 

"  M\ist  I  remember  Shamgar's  gloomy  days, 
And  that  sad  time  when  Jael  rul'd  our  coast  ? 
No  print  of  foot  then  mark'd  our  public  w  ays. 
Waste  horror  reign'd,  the  human  face  Vv^as  lost. 
Then  I,  I  Deborah,  assum'd  cominand. 
The  nursing  mother  of  the  drooping  land ; 
Then  was  our  nation  alien  from  the  Lord, 
Then  o'er  our  heads  high  wav'd  the  hostile  swoa^d. 
Nor  shield,  nor  spear,  was  found  to  arm  for  fight, 
And  naked  thousands  turn'd  their  backs  in  flight. 

"  But  now  awake,  iny  soul,  and  thou  arise, 
Barak  ;  to  these  the  victory  is  giv'n  ; 
Let  our  joint  song  ascend  the  skies. 
And  celebrate  the  majesty  of  heav'n. 
On  me,  the  priestess  of  the  living  Lord, 
The  care  of  Israel  was  bestow 'd  : 
Ephraim  and  Benjamin  obey'd  my  word, 

2   ii   2 


342  MEMOIRS  OF 

The  Scribes  of  Zebulun  allegiance  shewM, 

And  Issachar,  a  princely  train, 

With  glittering  ensigns  dazzled  all  the  plain. 

But  oh  !  what  sad  divisions  keep 
jReuben  inglorious  'midst  his  bleating  sheep  ? 
Giiead  in  Jordan  his  asylum  seeks,  naM 

Dan  in  his  ships,  and  Asher  in  his  creeks,  '^Vl 

Whilst  Naphthali's  more  warlike  sons  expose  '^ 

Their  gallant  lives,  and  dare  their  country's  foea. 
Then  was  the  battle  fought  by  Canaan's  kings 
In  Taanach  beside  Megiddo's  springs  : 
The  stars  themselves  'gainst  Sicera  declare  ; 

Israel  is  heaven's  peculiar  care. 

Old  Kishon  stain'd  with  hostile  blood, 

RoU'd  to  the  main  a  purple  flood  ; 

The  neighing  steed,  the  thund'ring  car 

Proclaim'd  the  terrors  of  the  war ; 

But  high  in  honour  'bove  the  rest 

Be  Jael  our  avenger  blest. 
Blest  above  women  !  to  her  tent  she  drew 
With  seeming  friendship  label's  mighty  chiefj 
Fainting  with  heat  and  toil  he  sought  relief, 
He  slept,  and  in  his  sleep  her  weary  guest  she  sleW. 

The  workman's  hammer  in  this  hand  she  took, 
In  that  the  fatal  nail,  then  boldly  struck  ; 
Through  both  his  temples  drove  the  deadly  wound, 
Transfixed  his  brain  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground. 
Why  stays  my  son,  his  absent  mother  cries  ; 
When  shall  I  welcome  his  returning  car. 

Loaded  with  spoils  of  conqu'ring  war  ? 

Ah,  wretched  mother,  hide  thine  eyes  ; 
At  Jael's  feet  a  headless  trunk  he  lies — 
So  Sisera  fell,  and  God  made  wars  to  cease, 
So  rested  Israel,  and  the  land  had  peace." 

Of  my  dramatic  pieces  I  must  say  in  the  gross,  that 
if  I  did  not  always  succeed  in  entertaining  the  audience,  I 
contiued  to  amuse  myself.  I  brought  out  a  comic  opera  in 
three  acts,  founded  oti  the  story  of  Wat  Tyler^  which  being 
objected  to  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  I  was  obliged  to  nev/ 
model,  and  produce  under  the  title  of  The  Armourer,  When 
I  had  taken  ail  the  comedy  out  of  it,  I  was  not  surprized  to 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  S43 

find  that  the  public  were  not  very  greatly  edified  by  what 
was  left. 

I  also  brought  out  a  comedy  called  The  Country  Attorney 
at  the  summer  theatre,  when  it  was  under  the  direction  of 
the  elder  Mr.  Colman.  At  the  same  theatre,  under  the  aus- 
pices of  the  present  candid  and  ingenious  superintendant,  I 
produced  my  comedy  of  The  Box-Lobby  Challenge^  and  my 
drama  oi  Don  Pedro. 

When  the  new  and  splendid  theatre  of  Drury-Lane  was 
opened,  my  comedy  of  The  Jew  was  represented,  and  if  I 
am  not  mistaken,  (I  speak  upon  conjecture)  it  was  the  first 
new  piece  exhibited  on  that  stage.  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
with  what  rapidity  I  dispatched  that  hasty  composition,  but 
my  friend  Bannister,  who  saw  it  act  by  act,  was  witness  to 
the  progress  of  it ;  in  what  degree  he  was  a  promoter  of  the 
success  of  it  I  need  not  say  :  poor  Suett  also,  now  no  more, 
was  an  admirable  second. 

The  benevolence  of  the  audience  assisted  me  in  rescuing 
a  forlorn  and  persecuted  character,  which  till  then  had  only 
been  brought  upon  the  stage  for  the  unmanly  purpose  of  be* 
ing  made  a  spectacle  of  contempt,  and  a  butt  for  ridicule  : 
In  the  success  of  this  comedy  I  felt  of  course  a  greater  grat- 
ification, than  I  had  ever  felt  before  upon  a  like  occasion. 

The  part  of  Sheva  presented  Mr.  Bannister  to  the  public 
in  that  light,  in  which  he  will  always  be  seen,  when  nature 
fairly  drawn  and  strongly  charactered  is  committed  to  his 
care.  Let  the  poet  give  him  the  model,  and  his  animation 
v/ill  give  it  the  action  and  the  life. 

It  has  also  served  as  a  stepping-stone  to  the  stage  for  an 
actor,  who  in  my  judgment,  (and  1  am  not  afraid  of  being 
singular  in  that  opinion)  stands  amongst  the  highest  of  his 
profession  ;  for  if  quick  conception,  true  discrimination,  and 
the  happy  faculty  of  incarnating  the  idea  of  his  poet,  are  pro- 
perties essential  in  the  almost  undefinable  compositions  of  a 
great  and  perfect  actor,  these  and  many  more  will  be  found 
in  Mr.  Dowton.  Let  those,  who  have  a  claim  upon  his  ser- 
vices, call  him  to  situations  not  unworthy  of  his  best  exer- 
tions, and  the  stage  will  feel  the  value  of  his  talents. 

The  Wheel  of  Fortune  came  out  in  the  succeeding  season, 
and  First  Love  followed  close  upon  its  steps.  They  were 
successful  comedies,  and  very  powerfully  supported  by  the 
performers  of  them  in  every  part  throughout.  I  was  fortu- 
tunate  in  the  plot  of  the  first ;  for  there  is  dignity  of  mind  in 


34^  MEMOIRS  OF 

the  forgiveness  of  injuries,  which  elevates  the  character  of 
Penruddock,  and  Mr.  Kemble's  just  personification  of  it  ad- 
ded to  a  lucky  fiction  all  the  force  and  interest  of  a  reality. 
When  so  much  belongs  to  the  actor, the  author  must  be  care-  ' 
ful  how  he  arrogates  too  much  to  himself. 

Oi  First  Love  I  shall  only  say,  that  when  too  such  exqui-  J 
site  actresses  conspired  to  support  me,' I  will  not  be  so  vain  1 
as  to  presume  I  could  have  stood  without  their  help. 

I  think,  as  I  am  now  so  near  the  conclusion  of  these  Me- 
moirs, I  may  as  well  wind  up  my  dealings  with  the  theatres 
before  I  proceed  any  further.  I  am  beholden  to  Covent 
Garden  for  accepting  my  dramas  of  The  Days  of  Yore  and 
False  imliressions — To  Drury-Lane  for  The  last  of  the  Fami- 
ly^  The  Word  for  Mature ^^  The  Dependant^  The  Eccentric 
JLover^  and  for  The  Sailor^s  Daughter,  My  life  has  been  a 
long  one,  and  my  health  of  late  years  uninterrupted  ;  I  am 
very  rarely  called  off  by  avocations  of  an  undomestic  kind, 
and  the  man  who  gives  so  very  small  a  portion  of  his  time 
to  absolute  idleness  as  I  have  done,  will  do  a  vast  deal  in  the 
course  of  time,  especially  if  his  body  does  not  stand  in  need 
of  exercise,  and  his  mind,  which  never  knows  remission  of 
activity,  incessantly  demands  to  be  employed. 

I  was  in  the  practice  of  interchanging  an  annual  visit  with 
Mrs.  Bludworth  of  Holt  near  Winchester,  the  dearest  friend 
of  my  wife.  When  I  was  upon  those  visits  I  used  to  amuse 
myself  with  trifles,  that  required  no  application  to  my  books. 
A  few  from  amongst  many  of  these  fugitive  compositions 
appear  to  me  not  totally  unworthy  of  being  arrested  and 
brought  to  the  bar  as  petti-larcenary  pilferers  of  the  sonnet- 
writing  style,  of  which  some  elegant  sisters  of  the  Muses 
have  published  such  ingenious  originals,  as  ought  to  have 
secured  them  against  interlopers,  who  have  nothing  bet- 
ter to  produce  than  some  such  awkward  imitations  as  the 
following—. 

WIT. 

JSTo,   1. 

"  How  shall  I  paint  thee,  many-colour'd  Wit  ? 
Where  are  the  pallet's  brilliant  tints  to  vie 
With  the  bright  flash  of  thine  electric  eye  t 
Nor  can  I  catch  the  glance  ;  nor  wilt  thou  sit 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  34? 

Till  my  slow  copying  art  can  trace 
One  feature  of  thy  varying  face. 

Soul  of  the  social  board,  thy  quick  retort 
Can  cut  the  disputatious  quibbler  short, 
Stop  the  dull  pedant's  circumstantial  saw, 
And  silence  ev'n  the  loud-tongu'd  man  of  law4 

The  solemn  ass,  who  dully  great 
Mistakes  stupidity  for  state. 
Unbends  his  marble  jaws,  and  brays 
Involuntary,  painful  praise. 

Thou,  Wit,  in  philosophic  eyes 
Cans't  make  the  laughing  waters  rise  ; 
Proud  Science  vails  with  bended  knee 
His  academic  cap  to  thee. 
And  though  thy  sallies  fly  the  test 
Of  truth,  she  titters  at  the  jest. 

Thrice  happy  talent,  couldst  thou  understand 

Virtue  to  spare  and  buff'et  vice  alone, 
Would'st  thou  but  take  discretion  by  the  hand, 

The  world,  O  Wit,  the  world  would  be  thine  own.^* 

AFFECTATION. 

JVo.  2. 

"  Why,  Affectation,  why  this  mock  grimace  ? 
Go,  silly  thing,  and  hide  that  simpering  face  ! 
Thy  lisping  prattle  and  thy  mincing  gait, 
All  thy  false  mimic  fooleries  I  hate  ; 
For  thou  art  Folly's  counterfeit,  and  she, 
Who  is  right-foolish,  hat1i  the  better  plea  ; 
Nature's  true  ideot  I  prefer  to  thee. 

Why  that  soft  languish  ?  Why  that  drawling  tone  i 
Art  sick,  art  sleepy  ? — Get  thee  hence ;  begone  1 
I  laugh  at  all  those  pretty  baby  tears. 
Those  flutterings,  faintings  and  unreal  fears. 

Can  they  deceive  us  ?  Can  such  mumm'ries  move^. 
Touch  us  with  pity,  or  inspire  with  lovQ  ? 


346  MEMOIRS  OF 

No,  Affectation,  vain  is  all  thine  art, 
Those  eyes  may  wander  over  every  part  ; 
They'll  never  find  their  passage  to  the  heart/^ 

VANITY. 

M.  3. 

''  Go,  Vanity,  spread  forth  the  painted  wing  ; 
I'll  harm  the  not,  gay  flutterer,  not  I  ? 

Poor  innocent,  thou  has  no  sting, 
Pass  on  unhurt  1  I  war  not  with  a  fly. 

But  if  the  Muse  in  sportive  style 

Banters  thy  silly  freaks  awhile. 

Fear  not — she'll  lash  thee  only  with  a  smile. 

If  thou  art  heard  too  loud  of  tongue, 

And  thy  small  tap  of  wit  runs  out 

Too  fast,  and  bubbles  all  about, 
'Twere  charity  m^thinks  to  stop  the  bung. 

If  when  thou  should'tbe  staid  and  sage, 

Thou'lt  take  no  warning  from  old  age, 

But  still  run  riot,  and  spread  sail 
In  all  the  colours  of  the  peacock's  tail : 
If,  with  two  hollow  cheeks  bedaub'd  with  red. 
The  Ostrich  plume  nods  on  thy  palsied  head  ; 
And  with  soft  glances  from  lack-lustre  eyes 
Thou  aim'st  to  make  our  hearts  thy  beauty's  prize^ ' 

Then,  then.  Dame  Vanity,  beware  ;  ' 

Look  to  thyself — beshrew  me,  if  I  spare." 

xVVARICE. 

Ab.  4. 

"  A  little  more,  and  yet  a  little  more — 
Oh,  for  the  multiplying  art 
To  heap  the  still-increasing  store, 
Till  it  make  Osa  like  a  wart  ! 

O  Avarice,  thou  rage  accurst. 

Insatiate  dropsy  of  the  soul. 

Will  nothing  quench  thy  sordid  thirsf ! 

Were  the  sea  gold,  would'st  drink  the  whole  < 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  347 

Lo  !  pity  pleads-^What  then  I  There's  none— 
The  widow  kneels  for  bread — Begone—^ 
Hark,  in  thine  eurs  the  orphans'  cry  ; 
They  die  of  famhje— Let  theai  die.— . 

Oh  scene  of  woe  ;  heart-rending  sight ! 
Can'st  thou  turn  from  tliem  ? — Y^es,  behold — ! 
From  all  those  heaps  of  hoarded  gold 
Not  one,  one  piece  to  save  them  ? — Not  a  mite.— 

Pitiless  wretch,  such  shall  thy  sentence  be 
At  the  last  day  when  Mercy  turns  from  thee." 

PRUDERY. 

M.  5. 

'^'  What  is  that  stiff  and  stately  thing  I  see  ? 

Of  flesh  and  blood  like  you  and  me, 

Or  is  it  chisel'd  out  of  stone. 
Some  statue  from  its  pedestal  stept  down  ? 

*Tis  one  and  both — a  very  prude 

Of  marble  flesh  and  icy  blood  : 

Dead  and  alive  at  once — behold 
It  breathes  and  lives  ;  touch  it,  'tis  dead  and  cold. 

Look  how  it  throws  the  scowling  eye 

On  Pleasure  as  she  dances  by  ; 
Quick  flies  the  sylph,  for  long  she  cannot  beat 
The  damping  rigour  of  its  atmosphere, 

Chill  as  the  eastern  fog  that  blights 

Each  blossom  upon  which  it  lights. 

Say,  ye  that  know  what  virtue  is,  declare, 
Is  this  the  form  her  votaries  must  wear  ? 
Tell  me  in  time  ;  if  such  it  needs  must  be, 
Virtue  and  I  shall  never  more  agree." 

ENVY. 

^^o.  6. 

fSee  The  Observer,     VoL  4.  M.  94.^ 


548  MEMOIRS  OF 

PRIDE. 

jvb.  r. 

^'  Curst  in  thyself,  O  Pride,  thou  canst  not  be 
More  competently  curst  by  me. 
Hence,  sullen,  self-tormenting,  stupid  sot ! 
Thy  dullness  damps  our  joys  ;  we  want  thee  not.- 

Round  the  gay  table  side  by  side 
Social  we  sit ;  there  is  no  room  for  Pride  : 
We  cannot  bear  thy  melancholy  face  : 
The  company  is  full ;  thou  hast  no  place, 

Man,  man,  thou  little  groveling  elf. 
Turn  thine  eyes  inwards,  view  thyself; 
Draw  out  thy  balance,  hang  it  forth, 
AVeigh  every  atom  thou  art  worth, 
Thy  peerage,  pedigree,  estate, 
(The  pains  that  Fortune  took  to  make  thee  great) 
Toss  them  all  in — stars,  garters,  strings, 
Heap  up  the  rnass  of  tawdry  things. 
The  whole  regalia  of  kings — 
Now  watch  the  beam,  and  fairly  say 
How  much  does  all  this  trumpery  weigh  ? 
Give  in  the  total ;  let  the  scale  be  just. 
And  own,  proud  mortal,  own  thou  art  but  dust.''' 

HUMILITY. 

J^''o,  8. 

"  Oh  sweet  Humility  can  words  impart 
How  much  I  love  thee,  how  divine  thou  art  r 
Nurse  us  not  only  in  our  infant  age, 
Conduct  us  still  through  each  successive  stage 
Of  varying  life,  lead  us  from  youth's  gay  prime 
To  the  last  step  of  man's  appointed  time. 

Wit,  Genius,  Learning — What  are  these? 
The  painter's  colours  or  the  poet's  lays. 
If  without  thee  they  cannot  please. 
If  without  thee  we  cannot  praise  ? 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  349 

Why  do  I  call  my  lov'd  Eliza  fair  ? 

Why  do  I  doat  upon  her  faded  face  ? 

Nor  rosy  health,  nor  blooming  youth  is  there  ; 

Humility  bestows  the  angel  grace. 

Where  should  a  frail  and  trembling  sinner  He, 
How  should  a  Christian  live,  how  should  he  die, 
But  in  thine  arms,  conscious  Humility  ? 

*Twas  in  thy  form  the  world's  Redeemer  came. 
And  condescended  to  his  human  birth, 
With  thee  he  met  revilings,  death  and  shame. 
Though  angels  hail'd  him  Lord  of  heav'n  and  earth.'' 

When  the  consequences  resulting  from  the  French  revo- 
lution had  involved  us  in  a  war,  our  country  called  upon  its 
patriotic  volunteers  to  turn  out  and  assemble  in  its  defence. 
I  was  still  resident  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  and  though  not 
proprietor  of  a  single  foot  of  land  in  the  county  of  Kent,  yet 
I  found  myself  in  the  hearts  of  my  affectionate  friends  and 
fellow-subjects;  they  immediately  volunteered  to  mount 
and  form  themselves  under  my  command  as  a  troop  of  yeo- 
man cavalry  :  I  was  diffident  of  my  fitness  to  head  them  in 
that  capacity,  and  declining  their  kind  offer,  recommended 
to  them  a  neighbouring  gentleman,  who  had  served  in  the 
line,  and  held  the  rank  of  a  field  officer  upon  half  pay. 
Men  of  their  principles  and  spirit  could  not  fail  to  be  re- 
spectable, and  they  are  now  serving  with  credit  to  their  cap- 
tain and  themselves  under  the  command  of  the  Lord  Vis- 
count Boyne,  w^ho  resides  at  Tunbride  Wells,  and  toge- 
ther with  the  duties  attendant  on  his  commission,  as  com- 
mander of  this  respectable  corps,  executes  the  ofiice  of  a  ma- 
gistrate for  the  county,  not  less  amiable  and  honourable  in 
his  private  character,  than  useful  and  patriotic  m  his  pub- 
lic one. 

Some  time  after  this,  when  certain  leading  gentlemen  of 
the  county  began  to  make  their  tenders  to  government  for 
raising  corps  of  volunteer,  infantry,  I  no  longer  hesitated 
to  obey  the  wishes  of  the  loyal  and  spirited  young  men,  who 
offered  to  enix>ll  themselves  under  my  command,aJid  finding 
them  amount  upon  the  muster  to  two  full  companies,  proper- 
ly officeredjl  reported  them  to  our  excellent  LordLieutehant 
2  F  '■- 


350  MEMOIRS  OF 

of  the  county,  the  Earl  of  Romney,  and  received  His  Ma- 
jesty's commission  to  command  them  with  the  rank  of  Major 
Commandant.  I  had  instant  proof  that  the  zeal  they  had 
shewn  in  turning  out  in  their  king  and  country's  cause  did 
not  evaporate  in  mere  professions,  for  to  their  assiduity  and 
aptitude,  to  their  exemplary  and  correct  observance  of  disci- 
pline, and  strict  obedience  to  their  officers,  the  warmest  tes- 
timony that  I  could  give,  would  only  do  them  justice.  It 
was  winter  v/hen  we  first  enrolled,  and  every  evenmg  after 
striking  work  till  ten  o'clock  at  night  we  were  incessantly  at 
the  drill,  and  after  we  had  been  practised  in  the  manual, 
sometimes  turning  out  for  the  march  by  moon-light,  some- 
times by  torch-light.  I  had  not  a  private  that  was  not  in  the 
vigour  of  his  youth,  their  natural  carriage  was  erect  and 
soldier-like,  they  fell  readily  into  the  attitude  and  step  of  a 
soldier  on  the  march,  for  they  were  all  artizans,  mechanics, 
.  or  maufacturers  of  Tunbridge-ware,  and  I  had  not  one,  who 
did  the  work  of  a  mere  labouring  peasant  amongst  them, 
v/hilst  every  officer  submitted  to  the  rule  I  laid  down,  and 
did  the  duty  and  learnt  the  exercise  of  a  private  in  the  line 
before  he  stood  out  and  took  command  in  his  proper  post. 

Our  service  being  limited  to  the  district  of  the  counties  of 
Kent,  Sussex  and  Surry,  no  sooner  were  my  companions  fit 
for  duty,  than  at  their  unanimous  desire  I  reported  them  to 
the  Secretary  of  State  as  ready  and  willing  to  serve  in  any 
part  of  England^  and  this  their  loyal  tender  being  laid  before 
the  King,  His  Majesty  was  graciously  pleased  to  signify  to 
us  his  royal  approbation  of  our  zeal  through  his  Secretary  of 
State. 

When  the  volunteer  infantry  was  dismissed  at  the  peace 
of  Amiens,  my  men  requested  leave  to  hold  their  arms  and 
serve  without  pay.  At  the  same  time  they  were  pleased 
to  honour  me  with  the  present  of  a  sword  by  the  hands  of 
their  Serjeant  Major,  to  the  purchase  of  which  every  private 
had  contributed,  and  which  they  rendered  infinitely  dear  and 
valuable  to  me  by  engraving  on  the  hilt  of  it-—''  That  it  was 
a  tribute  of  their  esteem  for  their  beloved  commander." 

The  renewal  of  hostilities  has  again  put  them  under  my 
command,  and  I  trust  the  warmth  and  sincerity  of  my  un- 
alterable attachment  to  them  has  now  no  need  of  appealing 
to  professions.  We  know  each  other  too  well,  and  I  am 
persuade^  that  there  is  not  qne  amongst  them,  but  will  give 
Tiie  credit  for  the  truth  wheti  T  declare,  that  as  a  father  Io\'  3 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  551 

his  children,  so  do  I  love  them.  We  have  now  augmented 
our  strength  to  four  companies,  and  from  the  experience  I 
have  repeatedly  had  of  their  conduct,  when  upon  perma- 
nent duty,  I  am  convinced  that  if  ever  the  necessity  shall 
occur  forcallint^  them  out  upon  actual  service,  they  will  be 
found  steady  in  the  hour  of  trial,  and  perfectly  resolved  ne- 
ver to  disgrace  the  character  of  Men  of  Kent,  or  tarnish  that 
proud  trophy,  which  they  inscribe  upon  their  colours, 

I  humbly  conceive,  that  if  we  take  into  our  consideration 
the  prodigious  magnitude  and  extent  of  our  volunteer  sys- 
tem, we  shall  find  it  has  been  productive  of  more  real  use, 
and  less  incidental  embarra>Tsment,  to  government,  tiian 
could  have  been  expected.  We  must  make  allowances  for 
those  who  have  been  accustomed  to  look  for  the  strength 
and  resources  of  the  nation  only  in  its  disposable  force,  if 
they  are  apt  to  undervalue  the  importance  of  its  domestic 
army.  But  after  the  proofs  which  the  capital  and  country 
have  given  of  the  spirit,  discipline  and  good  order  of  their 
volunteers,  both  cavalry  and  infantry,  it  is  not  wise  or  politic 
or  liberal  to  disparage  them  as  some  have  attempted  to  do  ; 
there  are  indeed  but  few  who  have  so  done  ;  tiie  wonder  is 
that  there  are  any  ;  but  that  a  man  should  be  so  fond  of  his 
own  dull  jest  as  to  risque  it  upon  one,  who  has  too  much  wit 
of  his  own  not  to  spy  out  the  want  of  it  in  others,  is  perfect- 
ly ridiculous  ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that  a  man  of  Colonel 
Birch's  acknowledged  merit  as  an  officer,  and  established 
character  for  every  good  quality,  that  denotes  and  marks  the 
gentleman,  would  infinitely  rather  be  the  object  of  such  a 
pointless  sarcasm  than  the  author  of  it. 

The  man,  who  lives  to  see  many  days,  must  look  to  en- 
counter many  sorrows.  My  eldest  son,  who  had  married 
the  eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Earl  of  Buckinghamshire, 
and  sister  of  the  present,  died  in  Tobago,  where  he  went  to 
qualify  for  a  civil  employment  in  that  island  ;  and,  some  time 
after,  death  bereft  me  of  my  wife.  Their  virtues  cannot 
need  the  ornament  of  description,  audit  has  ever  been  my 
study  to  resign  myself  to  the  dispensations  of  Providence 
with  all  the  fortitude  I  could  summon,  convinced  that  pa- 
;  tience  is  no  jnark  of  insensibility,  nor  the  parade  of  lamen- 
tation any  evidence  of  the  sincerity  or  permanency  of  grief. 
My  two  surviving  sons  are  happily  and  respectably  mar- 
ried, and  have  families  ;  I  have  the  care,  under  chancery,  of 
live  children,  relicts  of  the  late  William  Badcock,  Esquin^ 


352  MEMOIRS  OF 

who  married  my  second  daughter,  and  died  in  my  house  at 
Tunbridge  Wells,  and  I  have  the  happiness  to  number 
nineteen  grand-children,  some  of  whom  have  already  lived 
to  crown  my  warmest  wishes,  and  I  see  a  promise  in  the 
rest,  that  flatters  my  most  sanguine  hopes.  These  are  com- 
forts, that  still  adhere  to  me,  and  whilst  I  have  the  kindness 
of  my  children,  the  attachment  of  my  friends  and  the  can- 
dour of  the  public  to  look  up  to,  I  have  ample  cause  to  be 
thankful  and  contented. 

Charles  the  elder  of  my  surviving  sons,  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  General  Mathew,  a  truly  noble  and  benevolent  gen- 
tleman, loved  and  honoured  by  all  who  know  him,  and  who 
will  be  ever  gratefully  remembered  by  the  island  he  has  go- 
verned, and  the  army  he  has  commanded. 

William,  the  youngest,  married  Eliza,  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Burt,  and,  when  commanding  His  Majesty's  ship  th^  La 
Pique,  in  the  West  Indies,  being  seized  with  the  fever  of 
the  country  at  Saint  Domingo,  was  sent  home,  as  the  only 
chance  of  saving  him,  and  constrained  to  forfeit  the  com- 
mand of  that  very  capital  frigate.  When  the  young  and 
amiable  Princess  Amelia  was  residing  at  Worthing  for  the 
benefit  of  the  sea  and  air,  my  son,  then  commander  of  the 
Fly  sloop  of  war,  kept  guard  upon  that  station,  prepared  to 
accommodate  her  Royal  Highness  with  his  boats  or  vessels 
in  any  excursions  on  the  water,  which  she  might  be  advised 
to  take.  I  came  to  worthing,  whilst  he  was  there  upon  du- 
ty, and,  was  permitted  to  pay  my  homage  to  the  Princess. 
It  was  impossible  to  contemplate  youth  and  beauty  suffering 
tortures  with  such  exemplary  patience,  and  not  experience 
those  sensations  of  respect  and  pity,  which  such  a  contem- 
plation naturally  must  inspire.  When  my  daughter-in-law, 
Lady  Albinia  Cumberland,  took  her  turn  of  duty  as  lady  of 
the  bed  chamber,  I  took  the  liberty  through  her  hand  to  of- 
fer the  few  stanzas  which  are  here  inserted 

"  How  long,  just  heav'n,  shall  Britain's  royal  maid 
With  meek  submission  these  sad  hours  sustain  ? 
How  long  shall  innocence  invoke  thine  aid. 
And  youth  and  beauty  press  the  couch  of  pain  ? 

Enough,  dread  pow'r,  unless  it  be  decreed, 
To  reconcile  thee  in  these  evil  times, 
That  one  poor  victim  for  the  v/hole  should  bleed. 
And  by  her  sufferings  expiate  our  crimes. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  35S 

And  sure  I  am,  in  thine  oiTended  sight 
If  nothing  but  perfection  can  atone  ; 
No  wonder  thy  chastising  rod  should  light 
On  one,  who  hath  no  errors  of  her  own. 

But  spare,  Ah  spare  this  object  of  our  love, 
For  whose  dear  sake  we're  punished  in  our  fears  i 
Send  down  thy  saving  angel  from  above, 
And  quench  her  pangs  in  our  repentant  tears. 

Yes,  they  shall  win  compassion  from  the  skies, 
Man  cannot  be  more  merciful  than  heav'n  : 
Thy  pangs,  sweet  saint,  thy  patience  shall  suffice, 
And  at  thy  suit  our  faults  shall  be  forgiv'n. 

And  if,  whilst  every  subject's  heart  is  rack'd, 
Our  pious  King  presents  a  father's  plea. 
What  heav'n  with  justice  might  from  us  extract 
Heaven's  mercy  will  remit  to  him  and  thee. 

Nor  will  I  doubt  if  thy  dear  mother's  prayer, 
Breath'd  from  her  sorrowing  bosom,  shall  prevail  ; 
The  sighs  of  angels  are  not  lost  in  air, 
Can  then  Amelia's  sister-suitors  fail  ? 

Come  then,  heart-healing  cherub,  from  on  high, 

Fresh  dipt  in  dew  of  Paradise  descend. 

Bring  tender  sympathy  with  tearful  eye, 

Bring  Hope,  bring  Health,  and  let  the  Muse  attend. 

Stretch'd  on  her  couch,  beside  the  silent  strand, 
Whose  skirts  old  Ocean's  briny  billows  lave, 
From  the  extremest  verge  of  British  land 
The  languid  fair-one  eyes  the  refluent  wave. 

Was  ever  suffering  purity  more  meek. 
Was  ever  virgin  martyr  more  resign'd  ? 
Mark  how  the  smile,  yet  gleaming  on  her  cheek, 
Bespeaks  her  gentlest,  best  of  human  kind. 

Around  her  stand  the  sympathizing  friends, 
Whose  charge  it  is  her  weary  hours  to  cheer, 


354  MEMOIRS  OF 

Each  female  breast  the  struggling  sigh  distends. 
Whilst  the  brave  veteran  drops  the  secret  tear. 

And  he,  whose  sacred  trust  it  is  to  guard 
The  fciirest  freight  that  ocean  ever  bore. 
He  shall  receive  his  loyalty's  reward 
In  laurels  won  on  Gallia's  hostile  shore. 

Now  let  thy  wings  their  healing  balm  distil 
Celestial  cherub,  messenger  of  peace  ! 
'Tis  done  :  the  tortur'd  nerve  obeys  thy  will, 
And  with  thy  touch  its  angry  throbbings  cease 

Light  as  a  sylph,  I  see  the  blooming  maid 
Spring  from  her  couch — Oh  may  my  votive  strain 
Confirmed  evince,  that  neither  I  have  pray'd. 
Nor  thou,  my  Muse,  hast  prophesied  in  vain." 

I  have  now  completed  what  occurred  to  me  to  say  of  ar 
old  man,  whose  writings  have  been  very  various,  whose  in 
tentions  have  been  always  honest,  and  whose  labours  hav( 
experienced  little  intermission.  I  put  the  first  pen  to  these 
Memoirs  at  the  very  close  of  the  last  year,  and  I  conclude 
them  in  the  middle  of  September.  I  had  promised  myseli 
to  the  undertaking,  and  I  was  to  proportion  my  dispatch  tc 
the  measure  of  the  time,  upon  which  without  presumptior 
I  might  venture  to  reckon.  As  many  of  my  readers,  as 
may  have  staggered  under  the  weight  of  such  a  bulky  load, 
will  have  a  fellow  feeling  for  me,  even  though  I  shall  have 
sunk  under  it :  but  if  I  have  borne  it  through  with  tolerable 
success,  and  given  an  interest  to  some  of  the  many  pages, 
w^hich  this  volume  numbers,  I  hope  they  will  not  mark  with 
too  severe  a  censure  errors  and  inaccuracies 

Quas  aut  incuriafudit^ 
Aut  humana  fiarum  cavit  natura^ 

I  have  through  life  sincerely  done  my  best  according  to 
my  abilities  for  the  edification  of  my  fellow  creatures  and 
the  honour  of  my  God.  I  pretend  to  nothing,  w^hereby  to 
be  commended  or  distinguished  above  others  of  my  rate, 
save  only  for  that  good  will  and  human  kindness,  which  de- 
scended to  me  from  my  ancestors,  and  cannot  properly  de- 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.  355 

serve  the  name  of  virtue,  as  they  cost  no  struggle  for  the 
exertion  of  them.  I  am  not  exempt  from  anger,  but  I  never 
let  it  fasten  on  me  till  it  harden  into  malice  or  revenge.  I 
cannot  pass  myself  off  for  better  than  I  have  been  where  I 
am  about  to  go,  and  if  before  my  departure  I  were  now  to 
take  credit  for  merits  which  I  have  not,  the  few,  which  I 
have,  would  be  all  too  few  to  atone  for  the  deceit ;  but  I  am 
thoroughly  weary  of  the  task  of  talking  of  myself,  and  it  is 
with  unfeigned  joy  I  welcome  the  conclusion  of  my  task 
and  my  talk. 

I  have  now  only  to  devote  this  last  page  of  my  book  (as 
it  is  probable  I  shall  the  last  hour  of  my  life)  to  the  acknow- 
ledgments, which  are  due  to  that  beloved  daughter,  who 
ever  since  the  death  of  her  mother  has  been  my  inseparable 
companion,  and  the  solace  of  my  age 

Extremum  hunc^  Arethusa^  mihi  concede  laborem. 

Frances  Marrianne,  the  youngest  of  my  children,  was 
born  to  me  in  Spain.  After  many  long  and  dangerous  re- 
turns of  illness,  it  has.pleased  Providence  to  preserve  to  me 
the  blessing  of  her  life  and  health.  In  her  filial  affection  I 
find  all  the  comforts,  that  the  best  of  friends  can  give  me  ; 
from  her  talents  and  understanding  I  derive  all  the  enjoy- 
ments, that  the  most  pleasing  of  companions  can  communi- 
cate. As  she  has  witnessed  every  step  in  the  progress  of 
this  laborious  work,  and  cheered  every  hour  of  relaxation 
whilst  I  have  rested  from  it,  if  these  pages,  which  contain 
the  Memoirs  of  her  father's  life,  may  happily  obtain  some 
notice  from  tl^e  world,  by  whomsoever  they  are  read,  by 
the  same  this  testimony  of  my  devotion  to  the  best  of  daugh- 
ters shall  be  also  read ;  and,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God,  that 
here  my  literary  labours  are  to  cease  for  ever,  I  can  say  to 
the  world  for  the  last  time,  that  this  is  a  dedication^  in  which 
no  flattery  is  mixed,  a  tribute  to  virtue,  in  which  fiction  has 
no  part,  and  an  effusion  of  gr..titude,  esteem  and  love,  which 
flows  sincerely  from  a  father's  v.eait. 

RICHiVRD  CUMBERLAND, 


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